Requiem
by Wynter S. Komen
Summary: The worlds of The Walking Dead and This Means War collide when CIA operatives Tuck, FDR, and Chase find themselves in Atlanta when chaos erupts. Rated M for violence, sex, and good old zombie killing.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Hi, lovahs! So I published this story last October, almost a year ago, and wrote five chapters before I distracted myself with my second Warrior fic. Well, I've really missed this one, and I wanted to come back to it. In re-reading it, however, I felt that it was a bit rushed - I guess previously I was in a major hurry to get into the action. And you know I don't do "rushed". So, I deleted the first version of this story and I revamped the first chapter, as I will do with the rest of the chapters. You'll notice some pretty big changes in this first chapter as well as the next few before I pick up where I left off. So, though much of this is the same as you remember, I'd suggest reading it again, because it might feel a little better this time around (that's what she said...I don't know. It felt right.) and make a little more sense. **

**For the brand-new readers - welcome! Hopefully you have read some of my other stuff so you trust me by now to tell a good story. I know cross-overs don't get a whole lot of love. But it seems that most Hardy fans are TWD fans and vice versa, so I'm really hoping to get some new readers. And, I don't know about you, but I'd love to see three CIA ops hold their own in the zombie apocalypse...**

**If you are a die hard Walking Dead fan, I will caution you now that I stray from the canon a little. Most notably in that, in this story, the zombie plague is the result of a virus developed at the CDC, not the inherent-virus-thing-that-we-all-have-that-comes-out-when-we-die-thing-and-isn't-really-contagious-thing that the show uses - I think this is CONFUSING and doesn't make very much sense and leaves me with a million questions, so we are going to go the traditional (viral) route. **

**We're going to be spending some time with Chase, Tuck and FDR for a few chapters but not to worry - our favorite gang from TWD will be joining us shortly (and a brief note on this - it will be the early gang, not the latest rendition of survivors).**

**Chapter 1**

Crouched in a hot, stuffy room, in the humidity of an early fall day in Atlanta, Georgia, Chase Moreno remembered why she was an East Coast girl, through and through, to her core. New England could certainly get and a little bit humid, but at least it had different seasons and temperatures. So far in Atlanta, it just seemed to waver between hot and hotter.

She was posted on the stuffy, airless top floor of a presently shut-down industrial building about a mile away from the edifice of the Centers for Disease Control. It was about five-thirty, and through the high-powered, magnified lenses of her military-issue binoculars, she could see cars trickling out of the expansive parking lot, ready to head home on a Thursday night.

She brushed strands of her espresso-colored hair off her sticky forehead, adjusting the aviators on her face after wiping the sweat off the bridge of her nose and the nose-piece of her glasses, and heaved a huge sigh. Even with the window open, and even with the slight breeze outside, she was still stiflingly hot. In fact, she was pretty sure that having the window open was just making things worse. She cursed their assignment for the umpteenth time as she brought her binoculars up to her eyes and focused in on the two men standing in front of the grand building, one of Atlanta's points of pride – the Centers for Disease Control. The two men she was observing were preparing to part ways for the evening, and Chase wondered for the millionth time why _she_ couldn't have gotten the role of the emerging, cutting-edge scientist specializing in organic and viral chemistry. _A.k.a, the cushy lab job in the air conditioning!_

She had been in Atlanta for a total of two weeks, doing this same task, day in and day out, in this same stuffy room, for hours a day. Recon, surveillance. Typical nosy CIA grunt work, though she was no grunt. A seasoned and highly respected operative, she was used to being in the field, chasing the bad guys, getting shot at, getting into fights.

She smirked. _You know. The usual. _

Instead, she was in the backdrop along with her partner Franklin "FDR" Foster on this particular assignment. Some months ago, CIA headquarters in DC had been monitoring chatter about some possible dangerous virus being secretly developed in one of the labs in the CDC. However, the operatives at headquarters were all overworked as it was, between the conflicts overseas, and HQ needed a few volunteers from the field offices, if the directors had them to spare…

Collins had selected Chase, and FDR, and their other partner, Tuck Hansen, to follow up on the intel and evaluate the probability of a true threat. However, Tuck had been assigned to go under cover as a young, cutting edge virologist who had been hired by the CDC nearly two months ago. As the CIA placed at least a little bit of emphasis on covert operations, the lengths to which the organization had gone to get Tuck employment and create a new identity for him had been painstaking. It had paid off, however – the CDC had no idea what was going on, and Tuck had downloaded enough information during his Virology 101 classes to be believable. And, of course, it wasn't like he didn't have help and resources. He had been undercover for a month and a half by the time Chase and FDR were sent in, and he sent back regular reports of what was going on.

The chatter and intel that they had received was that one of the scientists, a very intelligent and creative virologist named Dr. Edwin Jenner, was working on something in the labs that could be potentially hazardous to the general public, and it was believed that he was looking to sell whatever it was he was cooking up on the black market for seven figures minimum, preferably to Russia, Iran, Iraq, Saudi Arabia, China – or a combination of all of them. Tuck's cover was "Dr. Liam Finch" and he had finagled his way into various meetings with Dr. Jenner, even going so far as to seek the man out as his mentor. Surprisingly, Dr. Jenner had seemed to appreciate his young devotee, and based on the reports that Chase had read and her own surveillance that she'd conducted since arriving in Atlanta, Dr. Jenner was broadly hinting at something "monumental, but top secret" that he was working on in the lab.

To Chase, it seemed that Dr. Jenner was still feeling "Dr. Finch" out in terms of measuring his sliminess and greediness. Tuck was doing an admirable job of playing the role, but that was his job – to be a great actor. That was _all _of their jobs.

What Chase was most concerned about was the connection between what they were working on and the recent rash of disappearances all across the city – not to mention the murders. Atlanta had been on somewhat high alert for the past month as at least a dozen murders had been reported. Now, Chase was no stranger to the dangers of big city living, being a New York City girl herself, but it was the manner in which the people had been murdered as reported by the police. The people had been chewed up, ripped apart like a wild animal had gotten to them, but what was most interesting of all was that each of the victims also had bullet wounds through their foreheads, or some other kind of major head trauma.

Then there were the disappearances. Chase didn't even have to be looking for the "Have You Seen My…" posters plastering the sides of businesses and stuck to electrical poles and kiosks. She'd been curious, so she'd done some research, and Atlanta's missing persons report had grown exponentially in the last couple of months.

Something was very, very wrong in the Peach State.

Tuck was the plant inside the CDC, and Chase and FDR were playing supporting roles. Which meant, Chase thought with a sigh, that they were doing the grunt work. She adjusted her army green safari shirt to let a breeze creep up her back and air out the loose blue tank top that clung with sweat to her skin. She hated grunt work.

Chase snapped back to the present, feeling little tingles of anxiety in her belly, and impatiently blew another strand of hair out of her face. She was uncomfortably warm, her thick, wavy dark hair beginning to kink up most obnoxiously in the heat, and the loose blue tank top she wore underneath an army green safari shirt clung wetly to her back. She irritably flapped her shirt to create a breeze, then gave up and yanked off the safari shirt and threw it over her shoulder. She huffed in annoyance borne of discomfort and tried to distract herself by zeroing in her binoculars on the two men still chatting away in the heat of the early evening.

"Chase, babe, I love you and stuff, but could you do me a favor and _please_ stop huffing into your fucking microphone, and being all loud as hell?" FDR's voice crackled into her earpiece suddenly, his tone highly irritated and it instantly made Chase crabby. He was in a different building, half a mile away roughly, between the CDC and her current location. "I can't hear Tuck and this Dr. Jenner guy with you blowing like a whale into my ear every five fucking seconds."

"Oh, eat a dick, Foster," Chase muttered back. "At least you've got air conditioning. I'm _dying _over here_._"

"Ah-ha-hem," a third voice rumbled into her ear. _Oops. Dad's mad._ Through her binocs, she could see Tuck turn slightly as if to let them both know he could hear them and he didn't appreciate it. He was standing in front of the building with Dr. Jenner, a microphone in the form of a tie pin on his suit and a teeny, tiny little earpiece placed inconspicuously in his ear canal. He was aware of their general location, and was also aware he was being watched currently. He'd been standing outside talking to Dr. Jenner for about ten minutes, one of their typical schmooze-y small talk chats that danced around the larger issue at hand – Dr. Jenner's unscheduled playtime in the labs.

Chase saw Dr. Jenner's face crease up with concern. "Are you all right, Dr. Finch? Have you got a cold?"

"Quite all right, I assure you, Dr. Jenner," Tuck said smoothly, his rich, velvety voice and crisp British accent making Chase shiver slightly despite the heat and humidity. _Damn his voice, making me all distracted and fluttery._ It didn't hurt that Tuck was also gorgeous, and that they were madly in love with each other, and engaged. Truth be told, Chase thought ruefully, Tuck could simply stand still and she would still want to climb him like a tree. "I'm unaccustomed to this southern heat, and perhaps might have a small allergy to something that might be annoying me at the moment." To anyone else, it would have been a simple statement, but FDR and Chase got the message that was very squarely aimed at them.

"Sorry, Dad," FDR muttered quietly, and Chase couldn't hold back a snort since she'd been thinking something similar.

"Anyway," Tuck went on smoothly. "I must say that I have very much enjoyed conversing with you today, Dr. Jenner, and I _very_ much am looking forward to getting into the lab with you tomorrow to see this biological wonder with my own eyes." He took on a meaningful tone. "You've hinted at some of the potential applications, and I must say, I find that very intriguing."

Even through the binoculars, a mile away, Chase could see the greedy, predatory smile cross Jenner's face. "I'm delighted at your enthusiasm, Dr. Finch."

"Please, call me Liam," Tuck interjected with a smile of his own.

Jenner nodded. "Liam. Very well. After you see it for yourself, and if you still find it as agreeable as you do now, I'd like to further discuss some thoughts regarding the sample and its application. And potential."

_Of course he wouldn't come right out and say, "I've got buyers set up, if you're in, and willing to keep your mouth shut, I'll cut you a percentage," _Chase thought, _but that was damn close. Wonder how Tuck won his trust so easily._

"Liam Finch is one slimy bastard, Tuck," she couldn't help murmuring. "Way to go."

"Yes, well, I look forward to what tomorrow brings, Dr. Jenner," Tuck said loudly. "I shan't keep you a moment longer. Please enjoy the rest of your evening."

"Thank you, Liam, and please – call me Edwin." The two men shook hands, then parted ways. Chase bit her lip in delighted amusement as Tuck turned on his heel and stormed into the parking lot, looking annoyed. It was pleasant payback for all the times he and FDR screwed with her when she was in the field and they were in backdrop; plus, Tuck was so _cute_ when he was annoyed.

"All right, Heckle and Jeckle," he growled under his breath. "Rendezvous back at the hotel."

It was all the encouragement Chase needed to get out of the unbearably sticky room. "Roger that." She gathered up the black military duffel that held her supplies and rose to her feet from where she'd been crouched at the window. Her knees popped in protest, and her feet felt like lead weights in her black combat boots. She flapped the collar of her shirt briefly to create a breeze, then shoved the long sleeves back up her arms from where they had come unrolled. She was grateful, at least, that she'd worn casual ripped denim shorts – as she walked, the breeze felt delightful on her bare legs.

She exited the building and hurried to her ratty, cheap rental, and loaded her supplies in. Somehow, it felt degrees cooler out here and down on the ground than it had felt in that stifling upper room. She yanked her outer shirt off and slid into the car, turning the engine over and cranking on the air conditioning. For a moment she sighed in relief, feeling the cool, sweet air blow into her face.

"Still blowing like a beached whale over there, Moreno?"

Chase popped open her eyes and scowled at the sound of FDR's voice. She'd forgotten to turn off and remove her earpiece. "Shut it, Foster. Again – you had air conditioning all day, so shove it up your ass."

"Whatever. All I know is – I need an ice cold beer, a burger, and to take a load off. Tuck-Tuck – we're eating in the hotel restaurant. Meet us there."

"It's wise to discuss agency business out in the open, eh, mate?" Tuck said wryly.

"We'll keep our voices down. This is non-negotiable, Agent."

"Whatever. Just hurry." Chase clicked off and decided that for once, FDR might actually know what he was talking about. The thought of an ice-cold brew and a perfectly cooked burger suddenly became her sole focus in life for the moment.

They met back at the hotel in due time, with FDR being the first one to arrive. He was already nursing a sweating amber ale, and Chase made sure that her duffel was completely closed with nothing incriminating sticking out before she slid into the booth across from him. She knew she should have actually stowed her bag up in the room she was sharing with Tuck, but she decided for now it would be okay. As long as it was closed, no one had to be worried about the surveillance equipment, recording equipment, binoculars, and fully loaded Glock .27 with a few extra mags to be on the safe side. She smirked when she saw a similar bag at FDR's feet.

"You got the AR in there?" she asked quietly, seeing a waiter approach.

FDR sipped his beer with relish. "Yep," he replied pleasantly. "And the scope. And the extra extended mags with .223 rounds."

"Lovely," Chase said, and turned to the waiter as he reached their table. "Hi. Can I get two Sam Adams Oktoberfests with orange slices, please?"

"Yes, ma'am," the waiter said smoothly. "I'll come back for your dinner orders when your third arrives."

"No need," FDR piped up. "Three bacon cheeseburgers with everything. Fries."

"Curly and seasoned for me," Chase added.

"Indeed," the waiter replied, quickly scrawling on a tablet. He smiled. "Be right back with those beers."

"So, that Jenner guy," FDR said, leaning forward. "He gives me the willies. Don't know about you."

"'_Willies'_?" Chase replied, lifting an eyebrow. "I hear you. There's definitely something off about him. He makes me think of a shark when I look at him. Those beady eyes. That grin." She shuddered slightly.

The waiter returned with the two tall, sweating glasses just as Tuck arrived. He slid into the booth, giving Chase a quick kiss. He was still in his suit, but he took off his jacket and rolled up the sleeves of his dress shirt.

"Where's mine?" FDR asked with a mocking pout.

"Oh, sod off, you wanker," Tuck said, shaking his head with a grin. "Did you already order?"

"Yep," FDR said. "Salad for everyone."

"Sure." Tuck swigged his beer and leaned forward. "Let's get into it. There is something definitely foul in the CDC. The problem is, I don't believe management, first-line or senior, is aware. I do suspect, however, that Jenner isn't working alone. He's got backing. Serious, high-level backing." Tuck glanced over his shoulder quickly. "I think greater than governmental."

"What _is_ 'it'?" Chase asked quietly. "I mean, what is this _thing_? It's biological, we know that. A virus? Viral weaponry, maybe?"

Tuck lifted his brows, sighing through his nose as he chewed his lip. "It is a virus. As for weaponry usage…It's possible. It's likely."

The waiter returned with a large tray and set their plates before them, as well as a bottle of ketchup. They each dug into their burgers and fries. Chase was surprised at how hungry she suddenly was; she'd snacked only lightly throughout the day while in the building.

After a little while, FDR set the remains of his burger down and grabbed his beer. "So. What else? The way Jenner was practically wringing his hands with glee, I have a hard time believing he didn't let something else slip. Especially if he feels he's found an equally crooked confidante in Mr. Liam Finch."

"_Doctor_," Tuck corrected with a smirk. "That's _Doctor_ Liam Finch. And yes. He did make some broad hints as to his little project, but I did also manage to snag some of his files when he was at a meeting."

"What sort of files?" Chase asked eagerly, nibbling a perfectly seasoned curly fry.

Tuck glanced over his shoulder again, and leaned forward. "As I said, it appears that what he's developed is indeed a virus, though its practical applications are still undecided and inconclusive at the moment. From what I understand from his notes, this is something to increase human dopamine levels exponentially, significantly decreasing the pain factor. This leads me to think that it could be used for military purposes – picture a soldier in battle who can withstand injuries, not register any pain or very little pain, and keep on fighting 'til he drops."

"Sounds interesting, actually," FDR said. "What's the hold up? I mean, what's preventing him from dishing it out to the highest bidder?"

"Again, currently inconclusive results," Tuck replied. "It looks like he's had dealings with the Russians and the Chinese. Neither of them is willing to dole out potentially millions of dollars for something that could be utterly disastrous."

"Side effects?" Chase asked.

Tuck drew in a deep breath. "This is where things get…rather queer. Just hear me out."

Chase tilted her head, supremely curious now. "Go on."

"Bear in mind this what I read in Jenner's personal notes. There are side effects with this virus. Per his notes, test subjects have shown a sharp decline in any sort of rational thought, in fact, deteriorating mentally to a completely primal, fundamental state, with only the barest of instincts remaining. And I mean _bare_."

"Test subjects?" FDR repeated, astounded. "You mean – he's tried this? On, what – rabbits? Monkeys?"

"Humans," Tuck replied evenly.

Chase was instantly alert. "Could this have anything to do with the spike in missing persons lately?" Her thoughts whirled rapidly as it all came together in her mind. "If they're using human test subjects for a virus, I have to think that no one is going to readily sign up for that. And they can't exactly publicize clinical trials for this."

"So, what?" FDR said. "Kidnapping?"

"That's what I'm thinking," Chase said. She turned back to Tuck. "Back to the side effects. When you say only barest instincts remaining, exactly how _bare_ are we talking? Which instincts? Survival? Fight-or-flight? Seeking shelter, safety from danger or the elements?"

"Feeding," Tuck said bluntly. "The need to feed, the most basic of primal urges. From what I read – there were no other notes about any of what you've said."

"Not even survival?" Chase asked doubtfully. "Come on."

Tuck shook his head. "Apparently…the brains of these test subjects were not quite that high-minded."

"So what happened to these test subjects?" FDR asked. "Obviously, they didn't go home to their families, if we're going with Moreno's theory that the missing persons are related to this virus."

Tuck shrugged. "His notes didn't say what became of them. I suppose I can find this out tomorrow. But there's one more thing."

Chase and FDR exchanged a look, then shifted their gazes to Tuck.

"The subjects – as well as deteriorating mentally, they also deteriorated physically."

"I thought the point was to have this super-soldier," FDR pointed out.

"Deteriorated physically _how?_" Chase asked at the same time.

"That's why this is all so shaky and inconclusive," Tuck said to FDR, before glancing at Chase. "From what I read in his notes – the test subjects became something like living, er…"

"Living _what_?"

Tuck's jaw tensed. "Living corpses."

"What?" FDR said, plainly skeptical.

"The notes, mate. I can't make this shit up. The notes said that the test subjects were free from any physical harm. They were administered one dose each of the virus. And instead of reacting to it as if it were, say, a steroid, over a period of time, varying from four hours to seven days, depending on the test subjects – they showed signs of deterioration and – and –"

"And?" Chase prompted, unable to believe her ears.

"Eventually, signs of decay and – rigor mortis."

The table fell silent and they exchanged looks. The burger Chase had just eaten felt like lead in her stomach. _What_ was the CDC, what was _Jenner_, cooking up in his lab? Turning people from functioning human beings with all of their mental capacities intact to piles of rotting, mindless mush?

"So…do they just die eventually?" FDR asked quietly, frowning. "I guess – not knowing what happened to them –"

"Jenner didn't say explicitly," Tuck replied. "But – something in his notes made me uneasy. He said something about potential contamination after one of the test subjects, well –" He spluttered a little, and Chase could see how disturbed he was. She put her hand on his thigh.

"Deep breath, baby," she said lightly. "What did the test subject do?"

"He…he _bit_ Dr. Jenner's lab assistant."

"Biting is a natural reaction for many people when they're restrained somehow," FDR pointed out. "Suspects, mental patients, even some hospital patients depending on the severity of their mental state and the extent of their injuries. When you can't use your arms, hands or legs and you're freaking out – you bite."

"Nah, mate," Tuck replied, taking a long pull off his beer. "The lab assistant was _bitten. _Meaning – the test subject was trying to…_sample_ him, as it were."

"What happened to the lab assistant?" Chase demanded.

"Sent home ill," Tuck replied. "That was on Tuesday, apparently."

"And today?" she went on.

"Jenner remarked to me today that he didn't have time to show me his project as he was a bit behind in his day-to-day duties as his assistant had been out sick for a couple days."

Chase could think of a hundred more questions to ask, but she had a feeling that none of them could be answered. She lapsed into silence, staring into Tuck's stormy pewter blue eyes.

"This is some bad shit," FDR muttered, swiping a hand down his face. "We callin' this in?"

"Not yet," Tuck said, holding up his hand. "Not yet. I want to get some more hard proof, see some of this with my own two eyes. Maybe get a hold of Jenner's files again, take some pictures." Tuck took another swig of his beer, emptying the glass, and set it down. "When I see this for myself – we'll make the call."

The trio sat in silence for a long time, picking half-heartedly at the remainder of their meals. Chase nibbled at her fries robotically, her mind a swirling jumble of confused thoughts. _Living corpses. Physical and mental deterioration. Exponential levels of dopamine. Bit his assistant. _

_Living corpse._

She tried to imagine what that might look like. In her line of work she'd seen her share of dead bodies, some with outward physical violence, and some with none. She'd _killed_ people herself through a variety of methods. She simply couldn't picture any one of them getting up off the ground and coming toward her again as if she hadn't just ended their life.

Chase considered herself to be a pretty unflappable person, but even that thought gave her, as FDR was wont to say, the "willies".

She was so lost in thought that she tuned out all other stimuli around her, barely even realizing it when Tuck slipped his arm around her shoulders and began to stroke her arm with his fingers, in an absently soothing way as he and FDR continued their chat. It didn't make any sense – how could something that was essentially a reanimated corpse exist? It went against the laws of nature. Or was it a corpse at all? Did the body actually die first, and then the virus kicked in? Did the virus cause the death, and then bring it back to life?

And, the most horrifying thought of all – could it be spread to another living thing?

"Can this thing be spread?" she said suddenly, turning to Tuck. He looked down at her and shrugged.

"I honestly don't know, love. I didn't see anything regarding transmission between people in Jenner's notes. However…it _is_ a virus. The emphasis of a virus is to replicate in hosts, over and over and over. That's what keeps it going. So, if I were to hazard an uneducated guess, I would say…yes. It can be spread."

_The lab assistant was bitten._ Chase was far from a scientist, but she knew enough about the spreading of common colds and flu viruses to know that any contact with a carrier was dangerous. And based on the severity of this particular virus, she felt she could safely assume that simply washing her hands in hot, soapy water for as long as it took her to sing "Happy Birthday" to herself twice was not going to suffice.

She thought of the more serious viruses she'd ever heard about – E. Coli, hantavirus, HIV, Ebola, H1N1, Marburg – and wondered where this one stood in comparison to those. If the lab assistant had been bitten, he had almost assuredly contracted this virus – there was no way around it. Viruses were spread through bodily fluids and could be contracted through the eyes, nose, ears, mouth – all soft mucous membranes.

But what was next?

Tuck was still stroking her skin as he resumed his conversation with FDR. They both declined second beers when the waiter came by to remove their dinner plates, and FDR requested the check, using his government credit card to pay for the meals. The waiter nodded and assured him he would be right back.

The sound of the television mounted over the bar, playing the nightly news, suddenly grabbed Chase's attention, and her head snapped around to watch and listen.

"…neighbors of Victor Ashland say that the normally outgoing man stumbled home on Tuesday afternoon, looking very pale and out of sorts. Concern for Mr. Ashland escalated when neighbors tried to check on him in the evening, only to have their efforts go unanswered. One neighbor, Annalee Washburn, said she and her husband could hear pained moaning from behind the door. And tonight, things took a tragic and unexpected turn for the worse."

The camera cut to the face of a middle-aged woman, her brow wrinkled with worry as she spoke to the off-camera news reporter.

"Well, we're a pretty close bunch out here, and Victor's always been s' nice. Always watches m'dog for me when I need him to. He's been sick b'fore, and with no wife or nothin' to care for him, we always make a point of bringin' him soup and medicine. Well, we done that tonight since we hadn't seen Vic leave his house any for the past couple days, and, I tell you –" The woman stopped, visibly shaken and upset. "When I knocked on that door tonight, with the soup and tea and medicine we'd brung him, the last thing I expected was for him to come tearin' outta that house, lookin' like he did, and _attack_ my husband Melvin. I never thought that doin' somethin' nice for someone would put my husband in the hospital with a chunk bitten outta his arm…"

The camera cut back to the solemn newscaster. "Melvin Washburn remains in a guarded condition at Emory University Hospital. Doctors declined any request for comment. Victor Ashland has not been seen since the attack on Mr. Washburn, and remains at large. Police are seeking him. If you have any information regarding Victor Ashland's location, please contact the police immediately. They advise that you be sure to keep your distance as Mr. Ashland is potentially unstable and violent."

Chase winced and turned away. She glanced at Tuck and FDR, both of whom had also watched the report.

"If that guy is infected and he's going around biting people…" FDR didn't finish his sentence and looked at Tuck and Chase intently.

Chase pinched the bridge of her nose. "We'd be looking at a mass pandemic. Could be in a matter of hours."

"Now, just hold on," Tuck said calmly. "There is no conclusive evidence of anything of that sort. Melvin Washburn is safe in the hospital, and I'm sure it won't take the police long to find Victor, especially since they are actively looking for him."

"What about the fact that he's _biting_ people?" Chase demanded.

"Well, thanks to this broadcast, people know to watch out for him," FDR mused.

Tuck gave her a squeeze. "There's nothing more we can do tonight, love. We've got to make sure we're thorough tomorrow, and keep our ear to the ground of anything suspicious."

Chase nodded grudgingly, but she couldn't hold the worry at bay. _This is bad, _she thought. _This is really, really bad._

Later that night, Chase climbed into the hotel bed, sighing with relief and weariness as she slid between the sheets in a plain, short, cream colored nightie. She watched Tuck exit the bathroom in only a pair of boxer briefs, scratching his stomach as he crossed the room to the window. He pulled back the curtain a little to peer out over the brightly lit city, and he heaved his own sigh. It did not sound relieved.

"What's the matter, babe?" Chase called to him softly.

Tuck let the curtain drop and approached her, reaching out to flick off the lamp as he got into bed. "Just – thinking," he said quietly, his voice rumbling out as he closed his eyes. "This is all…quite a bit to process." He opened his eyes again and looked at her, reaching for her hand. "As it is for you. And Franklin."

"Yes," Chase admitted, watching their hands play and stroke together. "I just – you have to promise me you will be _fucking careful_ tomorrow when you're there. If you get bit, I will – I will kick your ass."

"I promise you," Tuck said solemnly, "that even though my chances of getting bit these past couple months were just as high as they are now, I will do my absolute very best to not get bitten." His gaze turned playful. "Except for you. I quite like it when you bite me, love."

Chase bit her lip as his hand drifted up to her breast, the backs of his fingers stroking over her nipple through the sheer mesh fabric of her nightie. As if by magic, her skin came alive, standing out taut for him against his touch.

"Is that right," she said breathily, feeling a little throb between her thighs.

"Mm." Tuck leaned forward, pulling down the bodice of her nightie and exposing her full, round breast. He glanced up at her as he pulled her nipple between his full lips, suckling against it slowly and sensuously, before teething it slightly and making her yelp a little. "And I believe you enjoy it when I bite _you._"

Chase noticed the bulge in his boxer briefs was growing bigger with every passing second as he licked and sucked her nipple, squeezing her flesh indulgently. "I suppose it's okay," she managed, punctuating her sentence with a little moan when his hand slipped between her thighs.

His fingers slipped easily against her slick, wet flesh and he grunted deep in his chest. "Based on how absolutely _soaked_ you are right now, I'd say it's more than okay." He moved over her, easily maneuvering her onto her back, and gently pried her thighs apart. "Isn't that right, sweetheart? You like it when I nibble on your sweet, soaking flesh…"

Chase whined when he dipped his head, running his tongue from the bottom of her feminine slit firmly up her center, until he found the tiny, hardening pearl at the top of her sex and nibbled gently on it, making her squeal. He ran his tongue back down, parting her, and burrowed it inside her for a moment to savor her sweetness and coat his tongue with it. "_Shit_, Tuck!"

"Babe, you're so fucking delicious," Tuck mumbled, and began to devour her in earnest. He held her hips in place while he feasted on her flesh. "God, your pussy tastes so good."

Chase felt hot, tight pressure coiling between her legs, knowing she was close. Tuck sounded like a starving man, the sounds of his lips and tongue sucking against her filling the room in between his quiet grunts of pleasure. "Don't stop, baby," she gasped. "Holy fuck – I'm so close." She reached down to grasp his head, holding it there while she began to grind herself against his mouth in time to the strokes of his tongue. "Ah, fuck, _yes!"_

With a strangled shriek she burst against and into his mouth and he sucked against her hard in response, holding her in place while his tongue pulsed firmly against her in time to throbs of her sex. When she couldn't take anymore, she gently pushed at his head, and he crawled up her body, hovering over her.

"Taste your pussy for me, sweetheart," he mumbled, and slid his tongue into her mouth. "Taste how sweet you are."

Chase did enjoy the taste of herself, but more than that, she knew that kissing him after he'd gone down on her turned him on insanely, so she grasped his head again and kissed him voraciously, sucking at his lips and tongue while she used her toes to shove his underwear off his hips.

"Fuck me now, baby," she whispered into his mouth. "Fuck me – _God_, yes!"

He lined up at her wet, still-pulsing entrance and pushed into her smoothly. Normally he eased in, allowing her tightness to conform gradually to his size, but desperation fueled by lust made him less gentle and she wailed as he breached her in one push. Her knees pulled back automatically to her chest, her toes pointing, as Tuck began a steady, forceful rhythm into her. She felt fluid gushing out of her when he stroked that extra-special place inside her, and she gasped and moaned, staring up at him as he worked.

His full bottom lip was clenched in his teeth as he returned her gaze, and she thought she had never in her life seen anything sexier than the expression on his face. He lowered his head to kiss her, their tongues twining together as his hips continued their assault.

"So fucking tight, love," he mumbled into her mouth. "So tight and so wet."

"You're gonna make me come," Chase informed him tremulously, feeling a deep, powerful tingle deep inside her. "I'm gonna come…_shit. Yes._" She squeezed her eyes shut, feeling Tuck lean his head against the pillow next to hers, his lips grazing her chest and collarbone.

"Come for me, sweetheart," he groaned in her ear, the soft, deep sound hitting her deep right between the legs. "Let me feel you."

She felt him, his cock hard as steel as it moved in and out of her. The soft blunt tip of him seemed to hone in on the place she needed him most, stroking it over and over, and she began to babble nonsensically when she felt the surge beginning. It hit her full force, her eyes flying wide open, unseeing over his shoulder, and she let out a long, hoarse cry as a surge of fire hit all of her nerve endings concentrated in that small area. She cried out again, a mixture of his name and curse words as she felt her walls contract around him hard enough to pull a heavy growl deep from his chest, and his hips pounded into her, finishing her off as he finished himself off. He collapsed in a heap on top of her, and as she struggled to steady her breathing, she felt both of their hearts racing in time with the other.

Eventually, Tuck withdrew from her and after they each quickly cleaned up, she crawled into his waiting arms and he made a contented purring noise deep in his throat as he gathered her up tightly against his chest. "Love you, sweetheart," he said sleepily in her ear, kissing her neck, jaw and cheek.

"Love you too, baby," she replied, wrapping his arms more tightly around herself.

But as Tuck drifted off, Chase could only stare out the window, wondering what madness was unfolding that they had yet to discover. The worries from the day came rushing back to her, and not even sex with Tuck, two mind-numbingly powerful orgasms, and the heat and comfort of his body around hers could assuage the fear that had started as a little ball in the pit of her stomach. She wasn't sure how long she stared off into the darkness, just thinking, but eventually, the need for rest her body demanded outweighed the demand of her mind to solve the problems that had been presented to her immediately, and she fell into a deep but troubled sleep.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Back with more zombie stuff! This chapter is brand, brand new, meaning it wasn't in the first version of Requiem. There is more exposition here, a broader glimpse into what happened leading up to the events that will take place shortly. Also, the term "Z-Virus" was concocted from Resident Evil's "T-Virus" and the world of World War Z. I may actually refer to the zombies as "Zekes", so all credit due to WWZ. They will also, of course, when we meet our WD survivors, be called "Walkers". Stay tuned. And review, please!**

**Chapter 2**

The next day, Chase sipped at her iced coffee as she sat on the floor of the abandoned office, back in the stuffy building. It was late afternoon, almost five. She was wearing her earpiece and watching her laptop screen, which was playing the feed that was being recorded by the camera that was built into the pair of eyeglasses Tuck was wearing.

He was going over Jenner's notes again, this time recording the doctor's typed and written notes. Chase already was aware of what they contained, but seeing them written out in black and white was a different matter. The doctor was so clinical while describing the trials; so…cold.

_Subject A demonstrated extreme aggression 33 hours after dosing. When placed in the controlled environment of the basement of my home, Subject A attacked the human specimen I placed in the room with the test subject. In order to study the effects of virus transmission, which is what this particular trial was designed for, I had to dispatch Subject A before it killed the human specimen, who then became Subject B. _

Chase shivered as she read it, despite the muggy heat in the room. She wrapped her arms around her body, suppressing another shiver as she continued to read.

_Subject B suffered serious but non-life threatening wounds, therefore I did not treat them. While Subject A took 33 hours to incubate the virus before completing the change, Subject B took only 47 minutes. I placed Subject B in restraints and then administered a series of experiments to test pain tolerance. I removed one of Subject B's fingernails with a pair of pliers and it appeared to have very little to no effect. I will continue these experiments tomorrow by surgically removing, without anesthetic, one of Subject B's hands._

Chase gritted her teeth. These were _people _he was conducting his sick experiments on – real people who were innocent, whom he had plucked for their bodies, for their lives.

"Chase, Franklin," Tuck was saying quietly. "Have you got these notes recorded? I just found a video on his laptop I want to play for you."

"Sure," FDR said, sounding tired. "I'd love to see some more sick shit that this bastard did to innocent people."

"Right." Tuck's hand appeared on screen, pulling a laptop into view, and then his index finger hit a button on the keyboard. Then the laptop screen filled Chase's vision, and she watched as a video began to play. It was in what looked like some sort of plain, empty room, and there was a man that was sitting on the floor, his wrists shackled and connected to chains that were attached to the wall. The door to the room opened, and a man who looked a whole lot like Dr. Jenner stepped inside. At the noise, the shackled man shakily lifted his head, and unless Chase was greatly mistaken, he hissed and snarled at Jenner like an animal.

The doctor stepped forward and quickly stuck something into the man's neck, causing him to go limp, if not completely knocked out. While he was "tame" Dr. Jenner quickly unshackled his wrists, and then stepped out of the room. A moment later, the door opened slightly again and a young woman stumbled into the room, immediately whirling to face the door as it slammed shut. Chase could faintly hear the sound of a lock clicking.

"Hey!" the woman was screaming. "Hey! Let me out, you asshole! Let me out of here!"

She was sobbing and hyperventilating, and then screaming when the man on the floor slowly and unsteadily got to his feet. Apparently whatever Jenner had shot him up with had worn off, because he took a stumbling step toward the woman, making that awful hissing noise.

Her screams became ear-piercing and she ran around the small room, desperate to get away from the man. It was only a matter of time before he caught her, and Chase covered her face when he lunged, tearing into the flesh of her shoulder with his teeth. The woman's shrieks of shocked agony resonated throughout the room Chase was in, from her computer screen. Chase pulled her hands away from her face, sighing shakily, as she resumed watching the horror unfolding on the screen. All she saw was red.

Finally, Jenner appeared back in the room, and he was holding a pistol. He aimed at the man, one round punching a neat hole in the back of his skull. Blood sprayed and with a groan he went down, dropping the woman. She lay on the ground, moaning weakly and rolling from side to side. Chase watched as Jenner approached her, peering down at her. He used the toe of his shoe to nudge her in the side a little, and then, apparently satisfied, he turned and left the room, leaving her there on the floor.

"Bastard," FDR muttered.

"So apparently this accompanied the notes he left," Chase said, struggling to stay emotionally detached. But it was extremely difficult, and she thought that when they finally apprehended Jenner, she might introduce her fist to his face a few a times. Accidentally, of course.

"Yes," Tuck replied. "There's another video that shows the actual transformation. It is – incredibly disturbing. I'm making a copy of it now."

"When are you visiting the lab with him?" Chase asked.

"After his last meeting for the day is over, which should be in about twenty minutes or so," Tuck replied. "So you two will need to sit tight in the meantime."

"Roger," FDR said.

Tuck disabled the camera connection and Chase busied herself with reviewing the notes from the images that they had just recorded. She chewed her lip as she perused them, her stomach churning and tightening with stress. She was trying not to think about the video she'd just watched, though she knew she wouldn't be able to avoid it forever. It was just too shocking, too confusing, too disturbing. Chase was no stranger to ugly things – without them, she wouldn't have the career that she did. She'd spent plenty of time working on cases that involved the ugliest, most evil parts of human nature and tendency; she'd analyzed beheading videos of hostages in the Middle East, she'd seen the aftermath of genocide in Eastern Europe. She'd seen the handiwork of drug cartels, dictators. She'd seen it all.

Except for human beings who contracted viruses that made them rip apart their fellow humans – with their teeth.

Despite the mugginess of the room, a shiver of icy cold rippled over her skin and she wrapped her arms around herself again, frowning down at her files. _Time to shake it off, Moreno, _she told herself. _This is not the time to have an emotional reaction. You're a pro, so be one. _

She caught sight of another file in her stack and pulled it out. It contained several reports on the missing persons and murders that had occurred as of recent, and Chase looked at them curiously, flipping them open.

_…__Victim was found with multiple bite marks and torn flesh, indicating an animal attack. Victim also suffered a presumably fatal gunshot wound to the center of the forehead. Clean through-and-through with an exit wound through the base of the cranium._

There was a photograph accompanying the police report and Chase pulled it out. She studied the wound to the forehead; by her best guess, without the luxury of having a ballistics expert on hand, the wound appeared to be made by a decent-sized round – like a .40 caliber bullet.

Something similar to the size bullet that would have undoubtedly come from the pistol that Jenner had used in the video.

_Don't jump to conclusions, here, _Chase chided herself. _He's an evil bastard but that doesn't mean these two things are connected. Besides, _you _carry .40 cal bullets in your gun. _

Chase pulled more photos from the file and flipped through them. The photographer had gotten some up-close shots of the bite wounds. At first there was nothing Chase could see besides torn, jagged flesh, the sinew of muscle, and in some photos, the flash of white from bone. And plenty of blood.

She paused on the last photo, which showed a span of flesh on the vic's thigh. Above the area where a chunk of flesh had been ripped out, there was an almost perfect indentation of teeth, as if whatever had bitten the vic had started to bite down and then been forced to reposition their jaws. Perhaps the vic had tried to pull away. At any rate, the indentation was dark red against the pale flesh, and Chase's stomach tightened even more.

It was, without a doubt, the indentation of a set of very human teeth.

"So," FDR's voice suddenly sounded in her ear. "That video."

"What about it?" Chase asked, squinting at the photo.

"What about it?" FDR repeated. "Really?"

"Well, what?" Chase said impatiently. "It was fucked up. But also inconclusive."

"How was that inconclusive?" FDR demanded. "If we find nothing else on this little trip, we have enough evidence to bring his ass in and turn him over to the feds."

"The objective of this mission is to find hard evidence that he's developed a virus for the purposes of military application," Chase said. "And that video – while fucked up, as I said – is inconclusive to that. Not to mention, the quality was such that even a mediocre attorney could argue there was no way to prove it was Jenner. He didn't speak, there were no close-ups of his face, and there was nothing on him that strictly identified who he was. Come on, Frank. Stop thinking with your emotions and start thinking practically, here."

"At least some of us _have _emotions," FDR muttered.

Chase frowned. "Bite my ass, Foster."

Suddenly her computer screen lit up, and she found herself looking at the surface of a desk. Tuck was back online, and the picture shook as he moved about.

"Meeting time," he said quietly.

"Got your lab coat on, Dr. Finch?" FDR asked.

"Actually I've been informed that I'll be donning a hazmat suit," Tuck said. "This ought to be interesting."

"Just make sure to ask him questions that will get him talking in a way that is _incriminating_," Chase murmured. "We want him to bury himself when we take this back to HQ."

"Yes, sweetheart," Tuck said pointedly. "I might have done this once or twice in my pathetic career."

"Just saying," Chase said mildly.

She sat back and watched as Tuck proceeded down the pristine white hallways of the CDC. She'd never had the opportunity to visit the CDC, and was enthralled at the chance to see it from the inside. Tuck paused outside an office door bearing the name "Dr. E. Jenner" and knocked on it. A moment later, the door opened, and Chase's eyes narrowed as the man who was behind these monstrous experiments filled the camera on Tuck's glasses.

His face was clean-shaven but scarred, as though he'd suffered from bad acne as a teen, and his brown eyes were dark and almost beady. He had reddish hair that he wore short and his smile was almost pleasant.

Almost, if he had not been the epitome of an evil scientist.

"Dr. Finch – excuse me, Liam," he said warmly, extending a hand into his office. "Welcome. I'm glad you could stay to meet with me. I apologize for my meeting running over in length."

"No worries," Tuck said, taking a proffered seat in front of Dr. Jenner's desk. "I very much appreciate you carving out this time for me in your busy schedule."

Dr. Jenner settled into his chair behind his desk and held up a hand. "Not at all. I have come to very much appreciate your enthusiasm for research and development, Liam, and the past couple of months have been a pleasure for me to be able to share some of my own with someone who can appreciate it."

"Well, I can't contain my curiosity another moment," Tuck said. "The few notes that you've shared with me here and there are extremely compelling. And I hope I've made my understanding for this research's secrecy very apparent."

"Indeed you have," Dr. Jenner replied, leaning forward. "So much so that it is only because of that that I am willing to share all of this with you. Before we begin, I would be remiss if I didn't inform you, again, that this is of the utmost delicacy and not within the scope of the CDC's mission."

"I got that impression," Tuck said. "So I am clear, you are saying that the agency is unaware of your research."

"That is correct," Dr. Jenner said with a nod. "And if they found out, I would stand to lose my career and possibly my freedom. As would you. So I am placing a great deal of trust in you, Dr. Finch."

_Trust laced with threats_, Chase thought, smirking darkly.

"I appreciate that," Tuck said. "And I hope that I have been thorough in being an open book with you, as well as making my personal aspirations within the field of virology apparent."

"Just fucking get _into it _already," FDR groaned quietly, and Chase had to admit she agreed with him. She was getting tired of this dance they were doing around each other, unsurprising and expected though it was.

"One last thing I'd like to mention," Dr. Jenner said. "What I'm about to share with you has the ability to make us both extremely wealthy men. Not here in our country, but overseas, where this level of dedication, creativity and skill is actually appreciated. Based on the estimated sums I've been told, trust between us is, naturally, paramount."

"Absolutely understood," Tuck said evenly. "I assure you, I am crystal clear on the sensitivity of this, and I appreciate the chance you have afforded me to offer my skillset and input."

"You're killin' me, Smalls," Chase muttered impatiently. "Get him to spill the beans, already, Tuck."

"And I do need someone young and ambitious such as yourself," Jenner replied. "Not to mention, someone with your impressive resume. Well. I believe we have covered all the bases, Dr. Finch. Are you ready to see the virus?"

"Yes, indeed," Tuck replied.

Chase tuned out while Tuck got changed in a secured locker room into a hazmat suit. It was pretty clear that Jenner was all but chomping at the bit to get Tuck involved in his little secret side project.

"I'm going to leave my earpiece and camera in here," he said quietly, turning the glasses around to point at his face as he spoke. "There won't be much talking and I won't be able to capture what the microscope shows me anyway. So sit tight." He didn't wait for an answer before clicking off.

"Well, that was abrupt," FDR said. "I was looking forward to seeing the ooze under the scope, too."

"It's a virus," Chase said absently, shuffling through her files. "It's not ooze."

"I know that, Moreno," FDR sighed. He was quiet for a beat before he spoke again. "Gotta say, I'm still pretty creeped out from that video. It almost looked like that guy was trying to…_eat _that lady."

Chase nibbled her bottom lip pensively, glancing up from her files and staring across the room. In her mind's eye, she could see the stumbling form of the man as he staggered toward the terrified woman. "Maybe there's something in the compound that makes the subjects inherently violent. Yesterday Tuck was talking about how Jenner was going on about its potential military applications. If it was developed to create the 'perfect soldier' it would make sense for the subject's focus to be on destruction of a perceived enemy."

"Tuck said its impulses were base," FDR said. "He said – all that remains is the need to feed."

Chase chewed her lip hard enough to draw blood. "It's possible – probable – that wasn't meant literally. Probably the base instinct of feeding was mentioned as the easiest way to destroy a threat."

"Maybe," FDR muttered, but he didn't sound convinced, and to Chase's own ears, she could hear her own weak attempt at rationalization.

It was bad enough that a virus existed that turned its hosts into uncontrollable violent beings, but for it to cause them to literally feed on another human being was just too preposterous for words. She went back to her files, trying to ignore the sick feeling in her stomach.

After thirty or so minutes, Tuck was back online. His face looked somber.

"Changing out of the hazmat suit," he said quietly. "And then joining the good doctor for a beer and a steak before retiring to the hotel. You two can leave your posts for now and head to the hotel. Chase, am I to assume that you'll stay online to monitor my conversation with Jenner?"

"Is that a rhetorical question?" she replied, beginning to pack up her files.

"Naturally. FDR?"

"We'll just cozy up together like girlfriends in your bed," FDR said. "Make popcorn and braid each other's hair until you get back."

"Very funny," Tuck said grimly. "I'll see you both later."

Back at the hotel, Chase and FDR ordered pizza and beer from room service and gathered in her and Tuck's room. Chase set up the equipment on the desk, opening the laptop and arranging the small speakers next to it so they could hear better. FDR ripped into the pizza box and handed her a couple of slices on a plate and a beer, then settled into the desk chair while she perched on the edge of the bed, and they listened in.

By the time they had gotten settled and set up, Tuck and Dr. Jenner were into their second round of beers, their steak dinners had arrived, and they were making small talk.

"We're here," FDR said quietly into the small microphone that Chase had set up.

"Well, Edwin, I must thank you again for allowing me into the lab today," Tuck said in response to FDR. "Truly. It was quite a sight to behold. I've seen many viruses up close and personal and I have never seen anything such as that beast today. What do you call it?"

"I personally like to call it the Z-Virus," Jenner replied with a little smile. "However, it does not have an official name yet. I developed it, as I mentioned earlier, from different strains of hanta, Marburg, herpes B and H1N1. It's really a loaded cocktail of viruses – perhaps I ought to call it the Long Island virus, or perhaps the Kamikaze." He laughed. "What do you think?"

"Actually, the Kamikaze virus has a nice ring to it," Tuck said with a chuckle. Chase supposed she knew him well enough to be able to pick out the real note of disgust beneath the laughter; it matched the disgust she felt. She dropped her slice of pepperoni back on her plate, appetite gone.

"I saw something on the news last night," Tuck went on. "A report of a man who came home ill from work. The man's next door neighbors were interviewed and it appears that he bit one of the neighbors when they went to check on him. The neighbor the man bit is now in a 'guarded' condition at Emory hospital."

"Oh, yes," Jenner replied almost nonchalantly. "Yes, I heard something about that. I intended to go check on the man myself today, but I couldn't find the time."

"What of your lab assistant?" Tuck asked. "You had mentioned that he was also bitten while tending to one of the test subjects. What became of him?"

Jenner looked directly at Tuck – directly at the camera in Tuck's glasses – and smiled coldly. "I sought him out at his home. As I suspected, he was no longer quite – himself."

"Did you handle him as the test subject from the video you shared with me?"

Jenner shook his head, taking a long pull from his pilsner of beer. "Not this time. I got curious as to what would happen if I allowed one of my test subjects – all who become infected instantly become my test subjects, you understand, Dr. Finch – free roam of the city." He paused again and cut himself a bite of steak. "Typically, I would allow my test subjects to find one to three victims so I could observe their interactions, note any apparent conscience thought, observe their strength and speed. Then I would dispatch them, and the victims they'd claimed."

Immediately Chase's mind went to the police files she had, of the murder victims who'd had bite marks and gunshot wounds to the heads. _Innocent people he selected to die, _she thought angrily. _Innocent people he tested and then…dispatched._

"Are you not concerned with the consequences of a mass pandemic?" Tuck asked, and Chase noticed he wasn't eating much either. "It seems to me that it could prove to have rather dire consequences if this virus was allowed to spread through the city in an uncontrolled manner."

"I thought of that, as well," Jenner replied. "And, yes. At first, it was a major concern of mine, to keep the virus contained and controlled and to only use test subjects in a lab. But the more I thought of it, and the more encouragement I received from my backers overseas, the more it began to make sense to see its application in a metropolis setting."

Chase's blood went cold.

"You see, Dr. Finch, the Kamikaze Virus – I think I agree, it has a lovely ring to it – was developed for use in an urban, populated setting. The goal was to create a super-soldier who wouldn't falter even under the direst physical effects, and who would maintain a superior level of strength. As our conflicts in the Middle East have shown, the new method of warfare is _urban_ warfare. No longer will we fight behind dunes and sandbags, sending our tanks out to meet yours. That structured, organized style of fighting with rules is antiquated. Now, people hide in the mountains. They blow up towns. They amass bodies and ply them with guns and ammunition and send them into villages and towns. And this virus can accentuate that tactic."

"Are you suggesting that you will be performing a test run…here?" Tuck asked.

Jenner shrugged and cut another bite of steak. "In a manner of speaking. Obviously, the subjects won't be armed. Well," he amended with a smile, "they won't be armed with anything more than this virus."

"Thousands – hundreds of thousands – of people will be destroyed," Tuck said.

Jenner nodded. "Correct. And that's what I'll be studying. It's almost like it will be a controlled demolition, except instead of a building, it will be a…city." He smiled. After a moment his face changed. "Dr. Finch, you look unwell. Are you worried?"

"Well, Dr. Jenner, you're discussing bringing down an entire city –"

"You don't need to be concerned for yourself," Jenner replied. "I would suggest checking out of your hotel tomorrow morning. There are rooms for lodging at the CDC – private rooms. You may have your own suite, and you will be perfectly safe." He paused, then added off-handedly, "Besides, this city is a cesspool. We can only be doing the country a favor."

"Tomorrow?" Tuck asked, and Chase could hear the frown in his voice. "You believe it will spread that quickly?"

"With the amount of test subjects that I know are out, and the fact that they are doing as the virus is bidding them do, there is no telling how quickly this can spread," Jenner replied, and he looked almost giddy. "It's best to be safe rather than sorry, don't you agree, Dr. Finch?"

"Yes," Tuck replied smoothly. "And I thank you for your generous hospitality. Moving into the facility has to offer an incredible vantage point where studying this virus is concerned, especially with it in a real-world exercise."

"Indeed," Jenner said, smiling broadly. "And when the conditions become to worrisome, all we simply need to do is call in the special helicopter I have on stand by and we will be transported to a safe location."

"It seems you have thought of everything," Tuck replied.

"I certainly have." Jenner lifted his beer bottle. "To becoming millionaires, and to merging science with God. To being God."

"Cheers," Tuck said, his voice hollow only to Chase and FDR. The glass bottles clinked, and the rest of the meal was punctuated only by small talk.

"Well, I'd say Jenner just dug himself a hole six fucking feet deep," FDR announced, glancing over at Chase as he dropped his last pizza crust into the box. "All we have to do now is call this in back to HQ, and back to LA we go."

"Did you hear him?" Chase demanded, gesturing toward the laptop. "The virus has been released into the population, officially. There's no telling how fast this thing can spread –"

"Which is why we need to get the fuck out of Dodge ASAP and call in for help," FDR interjected. "Chase, this isn't some black-ops thing now. This is going to require real military presence to keep this shit contained. And the longer we sit here, the worse off we'll be."

"We can't leave Atlanta yet," Chase argued. "Did you hear him? He's going to let Tuck move into the CDC. There's no telling _what _he'll find there. For all we know, the CDC is in on this."

"Doubtful," FDR replied, shaking his head. "I doubt a highly regulated, government-controlled facility like the CDC is 'in' on some shit like this."

"We need to know for sure," Chase insisted. "We need to know what we're dealing with. We can't leave yet."

"I'm calling Collins," FDR said, making it sound like a challenge. Chase shrugged.

"As you should," she replied. "But tell her we need another day. We need the weekend at least."

Later, after FDR had left, Chase changed into a cropped lace camisole and gray cropped yoga pants, pacing restlessly in the dark room as she waited for Tuck to return. She kept going obsessively to the window to peer outside, looking for his taxi. It was a normal Friday night in the city, she observed. There were people out and about, going to and from bars and restaurants. Chase wondered how long it would be before it all went to shit. A week? Two weeks? A few days? It had already been a few days since Jenner's lab assistant went missing, and God Himself only knew how many others had been allowed to sample the general population before that. There was no telling how many people had come into contact with the virus already. Then there was the man in the hospital; doctors surely would have no clue what they were up against with this virus – so how many doctors had Melvin bitten already? How many other patients, how many nurses?

She heard an electronic zipping noise and turned just as the door opened. Tuck stepped inside, already taking off his tie, his shirt disheveled, sleeves rolled up to his elbows. He looked very tired, and very worried. His eyes found her in the dark the instant before he shut the door, moving over her body slowly.

"Hello, Lovely," he said quietly. "Why are you trotting around in the dark?"

His voice was pitched low and quiet but there was something deep to it, something that sounded like need and stress, something that touched the primal feminine part of her that was buried deep inside.

"Waiting for you," she whispered back, unsure why she was whispering. "I've been worried about you."

The room was lit only by the moon and the streetlamps outside but she could see him clearly as he moved toward her slowly. He was unbuttoning his shirt now, his eyes still glued to her.

"What's worrying you?" he asked. "Is it the fact that this man is cheerfully committing mass murder, or is it that the world as we know it is ending?"

"Tuck –" Chase said, feeling alarmed.

He reached for her, pulling her body against his roughly. "I don't want to talk, Chase. I just – I just need you. Right now."

Anything she intended to say died in her throat as his lush mouth landed on hers, and she couldn't contain a squeak of surprise at the ferocity with which he began to devour her mouth. She was losing her breath, gasping in air between heated, desperate kisses, trying to keep up with him as he sucked at her lips and filled her mouth with his tongue.

"Tuck," she whispered dumbly as he hefted her into the air and carried her over to the bed. "Baby, what –"

"Shh," he whispered back, pulling her snug pants off her hips and groaning softly when he found her bare beneath them. He stood before her at the edge of the bed as he removed the rest of his clothing, his eyes never leaving her body, and despite her worry over him, Chase could do nothing to quell a wave of intense arousal. Tuck was always a very generous, very thorough lover, always making sure she was pleased and happy, but on the rare occasions where he took complete charge with little talking and sharp, sure movements, it never failed to turn her on to a mind-numbing degree.

The moon highlighted the high points of his chiseled body, and Chase eyed it hungrily, feeling herself throb with sudden need as she pictured him above and on top of her. "Tuck," she whispered, reaching for him, "please. I want –" She broke off, knowing that her usual request for him to make love to her was not going to suffice. "I want you to fuck me."

"I intend to do just that, sweetheart," he replied, his tone slightly clipped and edged with a growl. He reached for her thighs and pulled her to the edge of the bed, his fingers stroking against her folds. She wasn't quite ready for him, so he leaned down between her thighs and began to devour her in earnest, his lips sucking and nipping, his tongue moving against her and inside of her insistently.

Chase gasped and gripped the comforter, trying to find purchase on the bed as Tuck worked his mouth expertly between her thighs. Her head tilted back as her body rushed to respond to his efforts and she burst against his mouth with a violent, full-body shudder and a whispered curse.

She was still panting when he rose to his full height, pulling her toward him by her thighs again. She felt his fingers stroke her ultra-sensitive flesh, causing her to shudder again, and he smiled a little in the darkness. He slowly probed her with a finger, then two, and grunted quietly with approval.

"So wet and warm," he whispered. "Just the way I love it."

"Tuck," she breathed. "Please –"

She felt the thick, blunt tip of him swipe through her moisture and her excitement skyrocketed. She held still as he moved his hips slowly, breaching her in one long, smooth thrust. She moaned quietly as she felt the delicious stretch caused by his size, felt the deep, throbbing pulse inside her as his length hit her deep.

He began to move, pulling almost all the way out of her before thrusting all the way back in, and it only took a few strokes at that excruciating pace and depth to cause her to break again. His hands were tight on her thighs and his jaw was clenched, his eyes gleaming in the moonlight as he looked down at her. He said nothing, his hips moving through her aftershocks, and then he pulled her legs up, to rest her ankles on his shoulders. He leaned over her, bracing his hands on either side of her, and brought his mouth to hers for a deep, heated kiss.

"Tell me how you want it, sweetheart," he said quietly, pushing his hips forward slightly.

Chase gasped. "Hard," she managed. "Hard, fast, deep. I want you to _fuck_ me, Tuck."

"As you wish," he breathed against her lips, and then Chase suppressed a shriek when his hips began delivering hard, fast strokes, the sound of flesh slapping flesh filling the air. One hand was around one of her ankles, and his other hand was squeezing her thigh, and the angle of the position and sensation of him pounding into her made her want to scream. It was the perfect balance of pain and pleasure and she thought she was going to hyperventilate. She could feel herself growing wetter and wetter around him, her juices gushing out in a little spurt.

There were no words between them, only her cries and his deep, quiet groans and the sound of their skin meeting, over and over. Chase stared up at him through glazed eyes as he took her with an almost dominating force. He never failed to please her, or amaze her, in bed and she loved this caveman side of him that he rarely gave in to.

She climaxed again, her arms giving out as she fell flat on her back. Her fingers dug into his hips, her nails scratching, as the force of it consumed her. She could tell it was what finally took him over the edge, because he leaned over her again, pressing her hard into the bed and slammed out a few last strokes before burying himself to the hilt inside her with a hoarse grunt. She could feel his body shaking, could feel his cock pulsing deep inside her, and she held him as he leaned against her, struggling to catch his breath.

After a moment he spoke. "That," he said softly, kissing her forehead, her cheek, and then her lips, "was exactly what I needed to…de-stress a little. I love you, babe."

"You should work out your frustrations more often," Chase murmured, feeling exhausted but completely sated.

He chuckled and pulled out of her carefully, and she reluctantly got up to quickly use the restroom and clean up a little bit. She hurried across the room to the bed and jumped in, his waiting arms closing around her immediately.

She snuggled into his chest, blinking up at him in the darkness. "Do you…do you want to talk about it? About anything?"

His eyes were closed but he sighed and pulled her closer. "In the morning. I just want to hold you and drift off and forget about this madness for a short bit."

"Okay." Chase wrapped her arms around him, and it wasn't long before she drifted off to the feeling of his fingers in her hair and stroking along her back. Rest was not to be had by either of them for long, however.

It was around one in the morning when the first screams pierced the air.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Short action-y chapter here, the revamped version. Shite has hit the fans, friends. Please review for me. MWAH.**

**Chapter 3**

The ear-splitting noise had Chase leaping out of the bed to her feet, her heart pounding, as she looked frantically around the room. She was still half-asleep and completely unaware of what was going on. She realized she was still nude from her interlude with Tuck, and shakily reached for her gray yoga pants that were lying on the floor.

"Chase, sweetheart," Tuck murmured sleepily. "Calm down, love. It's all right."

"Not all right," Chase replied, her voice raspy as consciousness came back to her quickly. She sidled to the window and pulled back the curtain, peering outside. "Whoever that was sounded absolutely terrified."

"Love, it's Friday night," Tuck said. He glanced at the clock. "Saturday morning," he corrected himself. "Remember there's that big group here at the hotel, the Young Business Professionals or something. Looked like a bunch of bloody college kids to me. I've been told that they like to party on Friday nights. I'm certain it was one of those youngsters having too much fun."

Chase narrowed her eyes as she surveyed the ground. There was nothing in the darkness that she could see, but she'd been positive that the scream had come from outside. Their room was on the twenty-fourth floor of the hotel, and the window that she was looking out of was on the front side of the hotel. Across the street was a brightly lit block, one that she knew extended for several blocks in the west direction, filled with restaurants, lounges and nightclubs, and was sure to be packed with some of the hundreds of Young Business Professional group members this evening.

"Come to bed, darling," Tuck went on sleepily, patting the mattress. "Come. Nothing to fret over. All right?"

Chase lingered at the window a moment longer, her smoky blue-gray eyes sweeping the expanse of what she could see side to side, her internal alarms still jangling. Perhaps she was just paranoid from all of the Jenner surveillance. His words about the virus still echoed in her mind, and it was a wonder she hadn't been having nightmares about it. Finally she nodded and returned to bed, slipping between the sheets to be gathered against the warm, solid wall of Tuck's chest. She snuggled against him, and felt one of his hands run down her back to cup her bottom and squeeze the thick, taut flesh there playfully.

"I don't believe I instructed you to don your pants again," Tuck murmured throatily in her ear. "I fear I'm going to have to ask you to remove them."

"Oh?" Chase asked, deciding to ignore her still blazing internal alarms in favor of classifying it as paranoia and tilting her head to nibble at his chin. She knew they were gearing up for round two, and dammit, they were both going to be exhausted tomorrow, but to hell with it. She was glad he seemed to be more like himself now, if sleepy. She slid her top leg up over his hip and purred when she felt him stiff and hard against her. "And what makes you think you can give me orders?"

Tuck's eyes twinkled down at her, his lips parting as he prepared to reply, but suddenly another shriek, a little fainter this time, rang out from below and Chase reflexively tore herself from Tuck's arms and leapt to her feet again. This time, Tuck came with her, struggling into his underwear as he joined her at the window.

"What in bloody fucking hell?" he muttered, staring down below.

There was a small exodus of people scurrying out the front door, and there were more screams accompanying them. In the darkness, Chase couldn't tell if any of them were hurt. _What is this? _she wondered anxiously. _Fight? Terrorist attack?_

She turned from the window and hustled to the chair in the corner upon which her suitcase sat, and she tore it open, grabbing first clean panties and a cotton bra. Her hands reached blindly for whatever she could find – denim shorts, a snug olive green tank top that reached past her hips, a black long-sleeved button down shirt. She grabbed socks and her black combat boots, noting that it had taken her less than twenty seconds to get dressed, and also noting that Tuck was still standing there in his underwear, watching her. She retrieved her Glock from her duffel bag and shot him a look as she strapped a black utility belt around her waist. It had a built-in holster for her firearm and side pouches to hold extra magazines.

"What?" she asked, annoyed. "Can you please get dressed already?"

"Just what are you intending to do?" Tuck asked calmly and folded his arms.

Chase double-checked to make sure her Glock was loaded with one in the chamber before slamming it into her holster. "I'm pretty sure you heard the screaming like I heard the screaming."

"Indeed, love, but we are not cops. We work for the CIA. We are _undercover_. We don't go charging into situations in which we have no law-enforcement jurisdiction."

Chase paused. She understood his point, loud and clear, but at the end of it all, someone was in trouble and she wasn't going to sit idle if she could save someone's life. "While that may in fact be true, Tuck, you heard those people. There's a problem. We may not be law enforcement per se but we're skilled and trained, and our mission is to protect this country _and_ her people." She grabbed a black hair elastic and wound her hair into a tight ponytail. "You can stay here if you want. I'm going to check it out." She turned for the door and reached for the handle, smiling a little when she heard Tuck grumbling under his breath behind her.

"Bloody hell," he muttered, and Chase glanced over her shoulder, seeing him dressing as fast as she had in jeans, a white undershirt, a gray V-neck T-shirt. He slid on socks and stepped into a pair of athletic sneakers. He slid a pancake holster into the small of his back, securing his own Glock, and pulled his shirt back over it in place. He nodded at Chase. "Let's go, you reckless woman."

Chase made sure she slid the key card for their room into her pocket and slipped out into the hallway. She paused on the balls of her feet, listening. Their floor seemed quiet enough, although she could hear murmurings behind doors, presumably from people who had been rudely awakened by the commotion outside. She pressed the button for the elevator and waited, folding her arms and tapping her foot.

"You going to walk down there like that, sweetheart?" Tuck nodded toward her waist, and Chase glanced down. She saw that her holster and the butt of her gun were visible, so she quickly knotted her shirt together at the waist to conceal it better. When she was through, the elevator arrived, and she and Tuck slipped in and hit the button for the lobby.

A feeling of inexplicable anxiety bloomed throughout her belly on the ride down. She knew Tuck could feel it too, from where he was leaning quietly against the wall of the elevator, arms folded over his chest, his hands tucked under his arms. He was staring down at the toes of his shoes, but she could see an intent, focused look on his face that belied his casual stance. Meanwhile, Chase paced across the small space in front of the door, wondering how long it should reasonably take an elevator to travel twenty-three floors. Finally, the light for the lobby dinged softly, and the doors slid open.

Chase and Tuck stepped out, and immediately noise – shouting voices, cries, and whimpers – met their ears. It was coming from the living room area.

Chase looked at Tuck in alarm, and he nodded curtly at her, slipping into "mission mode". She followed on his heels as he sped out from the bank of elevators and turned sharply toward the open, expansive lobby.

There had to be at least two dozen people in the lobby, and it looked like the bulk of them were converging on someone or something on the ground. Chase's eyes immediately fixed onto the large group of people in the middle as they pushed and pulled and strained. Tuck saw a hotel employee standing off to the side, and rushed up to the young man, grabbing his arm.

"What is this?" he asked sharply. "What's going on?"

The frightened young man looked up at him in panic. "I-I don't know, sir," he stuttered. "Some guy stumbled in here a while ago, reeling like he was drunk as hell, and then – and then he just started attacking people! Some guys, they have 'im on the ground now, trying to subdue him until the cops get here."

"The cops _have_ been called?" Tuck asked to clarify.

"Yes, sir."

"What do you mean attack?" Chase chimed in. "Who did he attack?"

"He attacked some of them folks," the young man said, pointing to a seating area beyond the group converging on the man on the ground. Chase looked and saw half a dozen people looking shell shocked sitting by themselves, some of them bloody, and an on-site nurse was doing her best to tend to them. "Some o' those Young Professionals people as they was comin' in from the bars across the street. He just started grabbin' 'em and bitin' 'em."

"He what?" Chase whipped her head around to stare at the employee. "He _bit_ them?" Her eyes shifted to Tuck sharply, and he was pale. _Jesus God. It's starting. It's starting._

"Just started grabbin' people!" the young man exclaimed, his voice trembling. "No rhyme or reason, just whoever got close to 'im, he just grabbed and hauled them in close and started bitin'. Well, everyone fought him off and just ran, some people ran out the doors outside, includin' the first poor lady he done attacked. He grabbed for a few more people after her and they all managed to get out. Ain't no tellin' where they ended up by now, but they're long gone. And then he just started goin' for all of them."

"They need to be careful," Tuck said sharply, looking at the group holding him down. "He could bite any one of them."

"They got him down pretty tight," the employee said. "Couple guys got his arms, couple more settin' on his back. He ain't goin' nowhere –"

Suddenly, an awful hissing, guttural snarling noise met Chase's ears and she looked around, alarmed. It was one of the most primal, vicious noises she'd ever heard in her life. At first, she couldn't place it – she thought it might have come from the crazy man down on the floor, but as it sounded again, she realized that it sounded almost feminine. Moreover – it sounded slightly familiar. She scanned the lobby quickly as she tried to place the sound, and then realized why it sounded familiar – "Subject A" from Jenner's video had made a similar noise. Then, horror quickly claimed her.

One of the young women who had been seated off to the side, getting help from the nurse, slowly approached the group holding the man. Chase could see blood smeared down her shoulder, and she looked very pale. Her eyes were very light, almost an icy pale blue, but it didn't seem natural somehow. She walked like she was drunk, staggering slightly in her tall heels.

As Chase watched in growing horror, the young woman reached out for the nearest person – another young man dressed in a suit – and grabbed him around the shoulders. The young man looked over his shoulder in surprise, and the surprise quickly changed to terror and pain when the young woman opened her mouth wide and bit into his neck.

"Oh, my God," Chase breathed, a hand coming up to her mouth. Tuck clenched his jaw, his hand immediately reaching for her out of instinctive protectiveness. Blood spurted from the young man's neck as he screamed, and all hell suddenly broke loose.

One of the men holding the crazy man on the floor suddenly bellowed in pain and jerked away, blood gushing from his foot. The entire group that was holding him down swayed with the sudden loss of his help, and the man on the floor jerked hard to get up, another guttural snarl emitting from him. Chase could see one of his arms get loose and swipe out, grabbing an ankle, and with a tug the person whose ankle he grabbed fell right onto their ass, and he sunk his teeth into their calf.

The young woman who had attacked the young man had gotten him onto the ground by now, and all Chase could see was her profile, her eyes closing in satisfaction as she lustily pulled mouthfuls of flesh off him, the skin stretching into strings like mozzarella cheese on a slice of pizza.

Two more people who had previously been sitting off to the side to receive medical treatment suddenly lurched to their feet and fell on the poor nurse, who shrieks became drowned out in the steadily increasing din of the lobby.

At the sound of breaking glass, Chase tore her horrified gaze from the scene before her to look toward the entrance and saw four or five more people stagger through, heading straight for the small crowd around the man on the floor. They each bore various stages of physical violence on their bodies and had blood smeared everywhere – but whether it was their own or someone else's, Chase couldn't be sure. Her mouth fell open and a dismayed groan erupted from her throat as she watched the newcomers begin attacking the other people, who tried to run, but only managed to run into other people trying to accomplish the same. They had no way out, and the screams rose even higher and louder. For a moment, Chase thought she was going insane. Humans just didn't behave this way, she thought. It just wasn't possible.

_How is this possible?_

It appeared that Jenner's virus had spread like wildfire, and that tonight would be the night that the world ended – or at least the city of Atlanta, Georgia.

* * *

><p>Tuck turned instantly to the young man who looked like he was going to pass out. "You've got a car here, yeah?"<p>

The young man nodded slightly as though he barely heard Tuck. Tuck snapped his fingers sharply in front of the kid's face, making his eyes focus on him. "Listen to me. Get the fuck out of this hotel. Go home. Get out of here now." He shoved the young man in a general direction away from the rapidly unfolding violence. So far, he and Chase had gone unnoticed, and he bloody well wanted to keep it that way. He turned to her, seeing her large gray-blue eyes going hazy with confusion, disgust and terror, and grabbed her by the elbow, making her turn.

"Time to go, love," he said lightly, steering her back toward the elevator bank, and looking over his shoulder to make sure they were still unseen. He jabbed the button to call the elevator, praying for it to hurry, and thought _Fuck it all to hell_ and reached for his Glock at the small of his back.

The elevator finally reached the lobby, and as the doors slid open, Tuck heard a lone scream growing louder, in their direction. He shoved Chase inside and stepped in after her, seeing a woman with a bloody neck come around the corner, with one of the attackers on her heels. Tuck couldn't take the risk, and jabbed the button to close the door, just as the woman's eyes went wide with panic.

But that wasn't what haunted him.

He got a look at the attacker's face just as the doors shut – and it chilled him to the bone. He'd never seen such a blank, pale face before, the blood-smeared flesh aside. The man looked – dead. Pale skin, hollowed out eyes, irises a pale cloudy blue. Absolutely no expression on the face. Tuck had seen – and contributed to – a number of dead bodies over the years of his career with the CIA. He knew a dead face when he saw one. The difference was, this dead face was attached to a body that was still walking.

The walking dead.

It was different, seeing it all unfold in front of his face, seeing this up close and personal. It was different than hearing about it, than seeing grainy videos about it. Even then, his doubting mind could compartmentalize it and rationalize it, accept it in the same way he accepted realistic movie violence was just…fake. Despite his work over the last two months, it wasn't until this very moment that he understood just what was going on, just what they were dealing with.

What Jenner had truly created.

Tuck glanced dully over at Chase, and his mental sense of disbelief and confusion faded instantly when he saw the shell-shocked look on her face. She hugged her arms over her torso, and she was trembling. That scared him worse than the madness unfolding right now. Chase Moreno never got scared – one of the things he simultaneously adored and loathed about her was her utter fearlessness. To see her this way now brought him solidly back to a sharp state of mind. He reached out and pulled her into his arms, squeezing tight. He wanted to say something, but could not think of a single thing. He understood that she was experiencing what he had just been thinking; she was not unaware of some of the effects of a potent, deadly virus that Jenner had cooked up. But seeing it with her own two eyes was something entirely different.

Finally, he decided that the best thing to say to her would be a definitive course of action. "Sweetheart, when we get back to our floor, we are going to fetch Franklin and then we are going to pack the bare necessities in manageable bags, and we are going to get the hell out of here."

Chase merely looked up at him and nodded silently, and that worried him even more. The Chase he knew, _his_ Chase, would have immediately fired off more detailed instruction or picked apart his plan and pointed out all the flaws before offering her own plan that they would ultimately end up following.

_Bloody fucking hell._ He had to take care of her, because she was his to take care of, but at the same time he needed his partner back.

The ride back to their floor seemed painfully slow. When the doors finally slid open, Tuck pressed a hand against the frame to prevent the doors from automatically sliding shut and leaned his head out, listening intently for any untoward noises. He heard voices behind doors, but no screams – for now, that was a good thing. He took Chase by the hand and led her down the hall toward the room that FDR was staying in, and rapped on the door lightly, his head swiveling from side to side to take in their surroundings. He glanced at Chase and saw that she was leaning against the wall next to the door, staring down at her shoes, still hugging herself tightly.

_Fuck. _"Franklin. Open the door!" He pounded hard this time, his impatience growing as voices behind other doors in the hallway grew louder.

Finally the door swung open, and FDR stood before them in boxer shorts and an open fluffy white robe. A sleep mask was half off his forehead and his spiky brown hair stuck up in tufts. "_What,_ man? Christ, can a guy get some sleep?"

"No time for sleep, mate." Tuck reached out and grabbed Chase by the hand and pulled her behind him as he barreled unceremoniously into FDR's room, shoving his friend back and shutting the door, locking it and latching the security bolt.

FDR's eyes instantly lost their sleepy look and he lifted his brows. "What the hell is happening?" He glanced at Chase. "What's wrong with her? I thought she only gets this quiet when she sleeps."

Tuck looked at Chase again, seeing if she would respond like she normally would to FDR's jabs, but she merely looked at him. He shook his head. "Shit has hit the fan, my friend. You may want to get dressed. Now."

"What do you mean, shit hit the fan?" FDR immediately scrambled for clothes, grabbing jeans, black running shoes, and a black T-shirt. "What are you talking about?"

Tuck didn't know how to say it any other way. "The dead have come to life and are presently chowing down on the populace of the hotel that was unfortunate enough to be within grabbing distance, and people are becoming infected and turning at the drop of a dime." It sounded ridiculous to his own ears, so he didn't blame FDR when a hesitant grin crossed his face.

"You guys are fuckin' with me, aren't you?" he asked calmly, dropping the shoe he had yet to don. "Very fucking funny. I'm already freaked out from listening to Jenner talk. Got me dressed at one in the morning as a damn joke. Man. You guys must be tired of boning each other if you're pranking _me_ in the middle of the night. Go find new ways to hump, or –"

"Franklin," Tuck said sharply. "This is no bloody joke. Put your shoe on, pack lightly in that duffel and strap up. We've got to _go._"

"Go _where_?" FDR demanded, and Tuck saw that at least he had lost the shit-eating grin on his face. He moved to the window and pulled back the curtain. He turned to Tuck, a look of amazed horror on his face. "Do you see this?"

Tuck dropped Chase's hand and rushed to the window next to FDR. His jaw dropped. There were four police cruisers parked in front of the hotel and half a dozen officers were struggling with a large group of people. There were muffled screams and cries, and the wailing of an ambulance was almost ear-shattering when it pulled up. FDR's dim room was bathed in red and blue and officers shouted into their shoulder radios for more backup.

Tuck began to make out a sound beyond the panicked and pained screaming – a guttural snarl, a hiss, a long, drawn out moan.

A moan of what sounded like hunger.

There were so many people, it seemed, pressed together in that lump that he could hardly tell what was going on or what was happening. They were so high up that he couldn't make out any faces or color of clothing, but he was willing to bet that at least some of those people down there had been in the lobby just minutes before. Through the glass, the sound of a shouting voice through a megaphone met their ears.

"Everyone get down on the ground, _now!_ We will use force if you do not comply!"

Below, he saw a handful of people start to scatter, and in a small clearing within the huddled mass, he saw a handful of people staggering after them like – like –

Like the way the infected people had in the lobby.

Horrified, he and FDR silently watched as those clearly infected began grabbing for nearby people, and the screams grew louder still. Even in the darkness, Tuck saw dark pools forming on the cement, heard some of the screams turn liquid and cut off, heard the frantic shouts of the cops and saw the cloud a heavy mist of mace created.

It only caused the living to become easier prey for the dead.

"_Open fire! Open fire!"_

The first shots rang out into the night, as the screams began to fade under the rising, hungry moan of the infected horde.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Back on track with the original story, with a few slight changes that you probably won't remember, being that you most likely read the chapter a long time ago. And there's FDR snark in here, which is always fun. Give it a whirl and a review again, if you don't mind. Unless you do mind, in which case... please don't trouble yourself. **

**Yeah.**

**Anywhoodles, enjoy. MWAH.**

**Chapter 4**

The sound of gunfire suddenly made Chase come back to herself in a rush.

Since the lobby she'd been floating around inside her own mind, confused, terrified, shocked and disbelieving at what had been placed in front of her eyes. She had seen extremely gruesome things, terrible things, during her time as an operative of the Central Intelligence Agency of the United States. However, she was completely unprepared for what she'd seen in the lobby. Unprepared, even though she'd spent days inundated with information about it.

Human beings, feasting on other human beings.

It wasn't as though she was completely naïve to the concept of cannibalism. She recalled one case in Ghana that she had worked several years ago that had involved a Ghanaian mob lord who had kidnapped some American dignitaries and then had them killed and eaten – by his own people. It had turned her stomach then, and horrified her, but it hadn't rattled her to her very core.

This was different; this was a virus, this was a disease that had the capabilities of wiping out the population of the city, the state – maybe the world, if it was virulent enough.

And it was out now.

She shook her head to clear it of the fog, and looked up, seeing FDR and Tuck at the window of FDR's hotel room. FDR had one shoe on and was holding the other in his hand, and he and Tuck were both absolutely silent. Beyond the window, she could hear what sounded like absolute insanity, and even at the risk of seeing something she wasn't sure she could handle anymore, she rushed over to them, yanking the curtain back.

Her eyes went wide as she took in the scene – there were four police cruisers and an ambulance, and a large group of people. There were shots being fired, people going down, and still others grabbing at those who were trying to flee.

And blood. Blood smeared everywhere – and she could see it, even twenty-four floors up.

She squinted hard at the crowd below. She could see at least a dozen people that she identified as infected, and people who were wounded but who had managed to get away were running from the property. More people still were flooding out of the doors, and from down the hall on their floor, she could hear an increase in voices, some panicked cries, and the near constant _ding_ of the elevator.

"We've got to get out of here," Tuck said tightly from her side, and then she felt his hand on her back and turned to look up at him. "Are you all right, love?"

"I'm good," she replied. "I'm good. And yes – we need to go."

"Again, I ask, _where?_" FDR said impatiently, holding his hands out, still clutching his shoe, and making a show of looking from side to side. "Look. We've never experienced anything like _this_ before but we know how mass riots work. And if this virus thing is spreading like wildfire, and wounded people are running off this property and the paramedics are all dead – we can't just leave in the middle of this. We've got to alert the FBI, maybe, call in the National Guard. You know as well as I do that this shit has the potential to absolutely fuck everything –"

At that moment, a loud crashing noise sounded and the building shook. Chase wobbled on her feet, and stared up into Tuck's shocked pewter eyes. They yanked the curtain back again and saw that a vehicle had just careened into the building and burst into flame.

FDR swallowed hard. "Holy fuck," he muttered. "Yeah. Let's go."

"We'll figure out where soon enough," Tuck said tersely. "Get some things together, not too heavy, and whatever equipment will be useful," Tuck said, guiding Chase toward the door. "We're going to do the same. Stay here and we'll come back for you."

Chase stood at Tuck's back as he eased the door open a little, and she could see and hear people running down the hall. He opened the door wider as a several people lugging suitcases passed them.

"You both need to get the hell out of here," one man said. "I don't know what in the hell's going on, but people are going crazy. I think it's some sort of terrorist attack. We're heading back to the airport now, and I suggest you do the same, wherever you're from."

Tuck nodded tensely and let the group pass before leading Chase down the opposite way toward their room. He glanced at Chase and she remembered the key card in her back pocket and pulled it out, unlocking the door and stepping inside. She immediately went for her duffel bag and pulled out the heavy surveillance equipment. As an afterthought, she replaced the binoculars back inside. She added a dozen changes of underwear, some extra shirts, and basic toiletries. Even with packing as lightly as possible, her bag was still heavier than she would have preferred. But there was nothing in there she knew that they wouldn't need, and there was no telling what they were about to face or for how long. She added her case files and also the small chips containing the data they'd recorded from Jenner's laptop. She slipped the bag over her shoulder across her torso, and tightened the heavy canvas utility strap to keep the bag as close to her body as possible. She wished she'd brought a sensible backpack, like Tuck, but she'd have to make it work.

She looked up to see Tuck stuffing supplies into his pack, including some clothing, a few of his own toiletries, extra mags for his Glock – _hallelujah, he remembered them this time_, she thought wryly – and a few unopened packs of dried fruit and beef jerky. Since he was the one who was literally undercover, he had very little in the way of surveillance equipment or weaponry beyond the nearly invisible earpiece that he wore and a decoy pen that served as a microphone, and his Glock. He added a few more pairs of socks and then closed his bag and nodded at Chase. They moved toward the door and Tuck stopped abruptly.

"Hang on, love." He reached into his pocket. "I'm going to ring Collins and let her know what's going on and that this mission is probably wrapped." He dialed a number on his cell phone, then frowned. He pulled it away from his ear and looked at the screen, then up at Chase. "No bloody signal. Have you got one?"

Chase pulled her own cell phone out of her pocket. "Nope. No signal."

Tuck moved to the phone on the nightstand and lifted it to his ear. "No dial tone. What the hell?"

"Maybe Foster has a signal." Chase glanced anxiously at the door. "C'mon."

The hallway was now quiet and still, but that unnerved Chase too. They stole down the hall toward FDR's room and Tuck tapped on the door. A moment later FDR opened it and waved them in. He moved toward his window. He was now wearing his other shoe, Chase noticed, and his backpack was on the bed, still opened, as though he was in process of packing.

"Been watching this," he said, gesturing outside. "Shit is crazy, man, that car is still on fire. The fire department still hasn't come yet, and that giant crowd down there just – dispersed. Looked like some of the people came back into the building and some left. All the cops are gone – couple are down, couple drove off, and one or two came inside. Maybe we should try to find them. They could be doing a floor-to-floor sweep."

Chase hurried to the window and looked out. The cement driveway was littered with bodies and blood was smeared everywhere. The car that had crashed into the building was still merrily burning, and the ambulance was still sitting there. Two cruisers remained parked in front of the building. She stared hard at them, thinking that the police had pulled up to the building after things had gotten severely bad; they would have immediately drawn their guns and handled the threat – probably, they would not have stopped to remove their keys. She thought of their rentals, valeted in the underground lot beneath the hotel. It might be safer to get to them there, but the police cruisers would be armed…and they had radios.

"…looked like they figured out kinda quick there's no savin' 'em," FDR was saying to Tuck. "And after about a thousand mishaps of shooting them in the knee or shoulder they finally realized those bastards aren't staying down and won't listen to reason, so they started cappin' 'em in the head."

"No reasoning with them?" Tuck repeated.

"Couple cops tried restraining them. Got bit for their pains. Those people – they're sick, but they're so far gone. It's like they can't hear you or they don't understand. There is no helping them – they're like animals now. Rabid animals."

"Well, it's pretty clear at this point that this entire city is at risk of becoming rabid animals," Chase informed them, dropping the curtain and stepping away from the window. She folded her arms. "There's no telling how many infected people left this hotel, how many are still in it."

"So what's the plan?" FDR asked. "Head to airport, fly back to L.A.? Do we go to DC with this? Headquarters?"

"Langley would be a much closer option than L.A.," Chase said. "However, the CIA can't do anything about this. This is a job for the FBI maybe, but being that there's a massive outbreak on the cusp of happening, I'd say we definitely need the CDC involved." She glanced at Tuck. "I'm sure Jenner is somewhere with a massive boner right now."

"I wonder if there's anything on the news," FDR said, almost to himself. He turned on the TV, and clicked to the local news channel. Sure enough, the reporter on camera in the studio looked distraught and shocked as she spoke to another reporter live on a scene somewhere in the city. Chase noted with a sinking feeling in her gut that it did not appear to be in the vicinity of the hotel – which meant havoc was being wreaked elsewhere in the city. Which meant it was spreading.

"Natalie, can you make heads or tails of what is going on out there?" the reporter in the studio asked shakily.

"Robin, it is a madhouse out here!" Natalie exclaimed. "It's far too early to tell but initial reports from the hospital say that it appears to be some sort of virus or disease that's at the root of this, causing those who become infected to turn bloodthirsty and attack any and every one they can. Doctors staffed at all of Atlanta's hospitals have come to no conclusions regarding what this virus is or where it came from or – most concerning – whether or not a cure exists. However, they all agree that the main mode of transmission appears to be through biting. They only caution that anyone who is infected should come to the hospital immediately, and those who are uninfected should go to their homes, lock up, and do not come out until the 'all clear' is given. At this time police are enforcing a citywide curfew effective immediately and lasting indefinitely. Sources say the National Guard has been contacted and is being mobilized as we speak. There is no clear information what is being done with those who are infected. Citizens in the suburbs are urged to stay as far as away from the city proper as possible."

"Thank you, Natalie," Robin in the studio was saying. "I will be bringing you updates as I receive them, which will cut into regularly scheduled programming. Atlanta citizens again are urged to heed the order of the police department and stay inside their homes. Do not answer the door or let anyone into your homes, and if you are infected or think you are infected, go to the hospital immediately." Robin's eyes shifted off camera briefly and her arm reached out. Once she was back in frame, Chase could see she held a sheet of white paper in her hands. "This just in. The airport has been closed until further notice, and all public transportation has stopped indefinitely."

"There goes _that_," FDR said in frustration. "How the hell do we get out of here now? Especially with this curfew and now the National Guard. And I am sure as hell not staying in this hotel."

"Well, we've got cars," Tuck pointed out. "They're in the underground valet garage."

"And the police cruisers down below," Chase said, gesturing over her shoulder toward the window. "Bet the keys are still in the ignitions. Plus they're armed, and they have radios. I'm surprised no one else has stopped to grab them."

"Little bit of pandemonium going on here, Moreno," FDR said sarcastically. "People don't stop to think when they're freaking the fuck out."

"All right," Tuck interjected. "We have transportation options. What are we strapped with?" He reached around to his back under his shirt and drew his Glock, holding it up. "I've got this, loaded, one in the breech. Three extra loaded mags in my bag."

"Well, _there's_ a fucking first," FDR said. He gestured to his bag. "I've got my Glock. Three extra loaded mags. The AR-15 with three loaded banana clips. Detachable scope."

"I've got my baby," Chase replied, holding up her own Glock. "Three loaded mags. That's it."

"Should be more than enough," Tuck said. "We have some options. We can go straight to Langley. We can go to the CDC. As you heard Jenner say, they have some areas that are probably more like bunkers than suites for the employees – they understand the risk of exposure better than anyone."

"The site where they cooked this thing up? No, thank you." FDR shuddered. "For all we know, that place could be crawling with the infected by now."

"Well," Chase said slowly. "There might have been an antivirus in the works."

"Doesn't sound like you and Jenner got that far, but _if_ there is, I bet there're only a few samples at best," FDR insisted. "Certainly not enough for a whole city's worth of people. And damn sure not worth us risking our asses to go find out. I've got a wife at home, man, and I'd like to get back to her."

"If there are samples, we could take them and see that they get replicated and manufactured," Chase said. "And maybe there are notes, too. You don't know what Jenner was working on as far as an antivirus is concerned." She frowned and clenched her jaw. "Not to mention – we need to find _him_. He caused this, he created it, and he needs to answer for that." She glanced at Tuck. "I'm sure the FBI will be all curious to know what the hell he was thinking, and our agency would like to know who his global contacts are, if he sent them samples of this thing, and what the effects were."

"She has a point," Tuck said to FDR. "I know you don't like this, but we've got to find Jenner, get some answers."

"You realize that's like looking for a needle in a stack of needles, right," FDR said flatly.

"Not at all. For one thing, he _invited _me to the CDC, you recall. For another, I've learned over the past couple months, my friend," Tuck said, picking up FDR's backpack and shoving it into his chest, "that that man positively lives at the CDC. He has told me that many nights find him working in the lab. He keeps a spare change of clothes in his office, along with a basket of toiletries. I know this, because he showed them to me in an effort to boast his extreme dedication to his profession. So I suggest that we start there and branch out. If he's not to be found, I know where to locate the employee directory with phone numbers and addresses."

"It's so hot when you get resourceful," FDR said darkly. "Listen, you guys, just so you know – if I get bit, I'm going to be _fucking_ pissed, and when I come back as a brain-rotted cannibal the _first_ thing I'm gonna do is fuck the both of you up. I'm biting the _shit_ out of you."

"Tracking," Tuck said sarcastically. "Now let's go."

* * *

><p>They located a set of stairs that was probably only used by employees that followed the spine of the hotel all the way down to the basement. FDR had staunchly refused to go down twenty-three flights of stairs at first , but Chase told him that if he wanted to get into a death-trap elevator that would deposit him right into the midst of carnage, he was on his own.<p>

"It's not like I'm scared or whatever," FDR said, trudging down the steps after them. "I just, you know, need to make sure you guys are okay and whatnot."

"Right," Chase huffed, scuttling down the stairs as fast as she could. Going down was far easier than coming up, obviously, but after ten or so flights she was beginning to get winded. Fortunately, the stairwell was clear of anyone or any_thing_ – no surprises there.

The same couldn't be said for the lobby.

They hit the lobby floor, and Tuck made a fist and held it up, glancing back at them over his shoulder. Silently and simultaneously, they each drew their handguns. Chase's heart began to pound as it always did with anticipation and a little anxiety on moments similar to these. Except, she'd never quite had a moment similar to _this _before, because human beings chowing down on other human beings just didn't _fucking happen. _

Tuck slowly pushed in the release bar on the door, and opened it just a few inches. Immediately, screams and the scent of blood and something fouler hit Chase like a tidal wave.

Tuck held up his fist again, indicating that they should hold, and shoved the door open a few more inches to stick his head out. When he turned around, his face was pale and rigid, but his voice was calm and low.

"Not a pretty sight," he told them. "But if we stick close to the wall, we can get out of the emergency exit without running into any of that madness. You ready?"

"Roger that," FDR said immediately.

"Roger," Chase echoed.

Tuck nodded and slipped out the door, keeping his back to the wall, and holding the door open. Chase moved after him, and FDR brought up the rear. The stairwell door opened to the back of the lobby, off to the side of the elevator bank, and along the wall about twenty feet away was an emergency exit. Ahead of them, past the elevator bank, was absolute chaos.

Catching a brief glimpse of the scene before turning and sidling quickly for the emergency exit, Chase saw a continuation of what she'd seen outside the hotel. In the brief instant her eyes swept the scene, she saw a man racing for the front doors, clutching his stomach with his intestines trailing out. An infected man with hands and mouth smeared with blood lumbered after him with a single-minded purpose. There were three more infected humans converging on a woman on the ground; all Chase could see of her was one twitching leg. There were dismembered body parts on the floor, and what had to be gallons of blood smeared, splattered and splashed everywhere.

Chase swallowed hard against her revulsion, and followed Tuck toward the door.

He paused in front of it. "The alarm will sound when I open the door," he muttered. He glanced at Chase and FDR. "Have either of you got a magnet?"

"No," Chase replied.

"Shit!" FDR smacked his forehead in mock dismay. "That was the _one thing _I left on the nightstand, too…"

Tuck glowered at him. "Pretty safe bet we're going draw all the attention when the alarm sounds. The way I see it, it's better to set the alarm off and _run_ rather than go through that crowd in there. Agree?"

"Roger," Chase said quickly. "Let's get out of here before they spot us."

"On three." Tuck nodded. "One." He placed his hand on the push bar and looked at her. "Two."

Chase's entire body tensed to run. Her heart hammered swiftly in her chest, and her palm felt slick wrapped around the butt of her Glock.

"_Three."_

Tuck shoved the door open, and the alarm shrieked horribly, and she followed him out into the night, FDR hot on their heels, and they ran for all they were worth into the moaning, snarling darkness. Tuck was in front, and was letting his instinctive sense of direction guide them. The emergency door led out to the side of the building, just around the corner from the front entrance and driveway. He led them around the side of the hotel and toward the back. Presently they reached the back entrance to the valet garage. The opening of the garage faced a path wide enough for two cars, and was bordered by a long brick wall that closed off and marked the boundary of the hotel property.

He paused just at the entrance, listening intently, while Chase and FDR caught their breath. The garage was silent as a tomb compared to the horrible noise at the front and outside. Chase followed his gaze to where it was fastened on several long, wide smeared trails of blood along the cement, as though something – someone – had been bleeding profusely on their way out. He slipped into the garage and headed straight for the desk area, to retrieve the lockbox where all the hotel guests' car keys were kept.

"I don't have the slightest idea what my rental keys look like," FDR said with a frown.

"Glad to know your attention to detail is so sharp, mate," Tuck replied, pulling out a handful of keys. The lot was about a third full; apparently, many of the guests had run for their vehicles and left the hotel as fast as possible. "But we're not looking for our cars necessarily. We need to find a car with as full a tank as possible, something small, not a gas-guzzler. Start trying the keys at random. Let's split up. I'll take the front. Chase, you take the back east side. FDR, back west. Check what you can in your area first before you follow any sounds on the other side of the garage."

Chase accepted a handful of car keys, sighing. This was going to take up precious time, and would have them all over the expansive garage, not to mention making a God-awful racket in the process, and who knew how adept the infected could be at following noises. She hurried to her designated area, trying various key fobs. All of the ones she held had electronic lock and unlock buttons, and she heard a couple making beeping noises that were in her area.

She hurried to follow the noise of one of the responding beeps, then skidded to a stop when she saw that it was a huge blue truck. _Gas-guzzler, _she thought, turning. She slowly walked the aisle, hitting other key fobs, and hearing the coordinating electronic beeps coming from the other side of the garage where FDR was.

_Something in my area, please! _She tried another key fob, and heard a resounding _chirp-chirp_ coming from the back corner. She hurried in that direction, praying for something small, with a full gas tank, and maybe some snacks.

She got two of her wishes.

She let out a soft squeal of happiness when she saw a sleek black Toyota Corolla's headlights flash in response to the depressed button on the key fob in her hand, and she hit the button again to unlock it and hurried over. She opened the door and slipped behind the wheel, sticking the key in the ignition and turning it over. When it purred to life, the gas gauge shot up to just below full.

"Hell yeah!" she muttered to herself excitedly. They could get out of here, try to get to safety and maybe even send for help.

She turned the car off and stepped out of the car, swinging the door closed behind her. She opened her mouth to call out to Tuck and FDR, but when a cold hand suddenly dropped onto her shoulder, only a startled scream came out.


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: Some action-y stuff here. Please read, enjoy and review. XOXO**

**Chapter 5**

It felt like death.

Chase's years of training and practical application in the field made her instantly drop the shoulder that was being gripped and her body weight shifted hard in a sideways and downward motion with the primal desire to simply get away from the threat. She scrambled away and turned, and her blood ran like ice under her skin in her veins when she saw what stood before her, up close and personal.

It had once been a man.

Now, it was only a shell, a husk of something that only sort of resembled a human being. It was built like a human, it looked like a human. But it wasn't a human – not anymore.

The creature had light brown hair, combed over, that was matted with blood. Its skin was deathly pale, with a slightly gray hue, and its eyes – well, _eye_; one was missing and left a thick bloody streak down one pale cheek – were filmed over with a cloudy white membrane under which the iris appeared to be broken somehow. In addition to the blood on its face, there was blood all over its chest and abdomen and with a start, Chase realized it was the man she'd seen a little bit ago in the lobby – running out the entrance with his innards hanging out. There didn't seem to be any sign of them now.

Was this what that innocent woman from the video had seen, was this what had killed her? Is this what the innocent man that Jenner had plucked for his insane, evil experiment had become?

She swallowed hard and time slowed as she looked up into its face again. It was large, and taller than she'd originally thought, and she watched as its mouth pulled back to reveal broken teeth in blackened gums. And then, from the depth of its chest and the back of its throat, it made a hideous, terrifying snarling-growl noise, so vicious and blood-thirsty she wanted to clap her hands over her ears.

"Chase!"

There was no time. Chase knew she needed to act, and she forced her conscious mind to the back and allowed her highly trained and honed instinctive skills take over. She planted one foot against the cement and, using her arms for momentum, lifted her other leg and sent it hard into the creature's chest in a powerful push-kick. It sent the creature stumbling back against the car, but surprisingly, it caught its balance, let out another low, hissing moan, and lurched for her again.

"_Head shot!"_

Her ears heard the words, but her instincts knew that to follow the order would cause a noise that would create even bigger problems. When the creature – the _zombie_ – came upon her again, she ducked nimbly under its swinging arms, came up behind it, and leaped onto its back. She wrapped her hands around its head, taking very great care to steer clear of its gnashing jaws, and with a delicate but powerful flick of her wrists, she used her forearms for leverage and neatly broke its neck with a loud _pop_ and it dropped to the ground.

She landed on her feet and backed up several steps in a panic as she allowed her conscious mind to take over again. She became gradually aware that her breath was heaving out of her lungs in heavy, gasping wheezes, and she heard footsteps running up behind her. She nearly jumped out of her skin when hands grabbed at her, but they were warm, and familiar.

"Chase, sweetheart," Tuck was breathing in her ear as he pulled her into his arms. "Babe, are you all right? Love? Talk to me."

"Did he bite you?" FDR demanded, grabbing one of her arms and circling her back to check her over. "Any scratches?"

"No," Chase replied in a small voice. She turned to stare at the motionless heap on the ground. Apparently breaking the spinal column achieved the same effect as a bullet in the brain. "No, I'm not bitten or scratched."

"He was practically on top of you," FDR muttered, looking at her other arm.

Chase yanked it out of his grasp in annoyance. "Foster, would you stop pawing at me? I'm not bitten, okay?" She pushed away from Tuck and made a show of lifting her shirt to just below her chest, then holding out her arms and turning in a circle. "See?"

"All right," FDR said defensively, holding up his hands. "Just making sure."

"Why didn't you shoot?" Tuck asked. "You should not have touched him, Chase. Anything could have happened."

"Too much noise," Chase replied, returning her gaze to the creature. "Didn't want to risk it. And they're slow. I got around him before he even turned his head, and I wasn't really even trying that hard to move fast. He was dead before he even knew I was on his back."

"Still," Tuck muttered, frowning. "I don't like that."

"I found this car," Chase said, gesturing to the Corolla. "Pretty much a full tank of gas. I was trying to let you guys know that when he – it – grabbed me."

"Brilliant!" Tuck took the keys from her outstretched hand. "Good car for gas mileage too. We'll take it. But you've got to come and see –"

"Someone's going hunting this weekend," FDR interrupted with a grin. Then he frowned. "Well, they _were_, anyway. But we found all this hunting shit in one of the cars – bows, arrows, knives, a rifle. Thirty-aught-six, actually, nice-ass piece."

"Let's add to our weaponry, and get going," Tuck said anxiously, eyeing the corpse on the ground. "No telling what might come after us."

Chase followed them across the garage to a large SUV. Tuck went around to the back and popped the hatch, pulling it up. Chase's eyes widened. There was a large case with the hunting rifle plus a large box of shells. Additionally, there were half a dozen hunting knives, including several Bowie knives, a Sharpfinger knife, a hatchet and a machete. There was a crossbow with a dozen bolts, and a military-issue foldable black serrated spade.

Chase looked at the items, and felt like it was Christmas.

FDR reached for the crossbow and looked at it doubtfully. "What is this, medieval times?"

Chase grinned and reached out to snatch it from his hands. "What, afraid your marksmanship isn't up to par?"

FDR scowled at her and grabbed the bow back. "_Sharpshooter,_ princess."

Chase smirked and handed him the bolts, thumbing toward herself. "_Expert marksman._ That's cool, Foster. You go chase after these bolts. I've got the rifle; it belongs with me anyway."

Tuck smiled and grabbed it just as she reached for it. "'Fraid not, darling. Age before beauty, and all that."

Chase gaped at him. "Are you kidding me? I can out-shoot you both on a bad day with both my eyes closed."

"Be that as it may," Tuck said, running his hands lovingly down the barrel. "This one's mine."

"Here," FDR said, handing Chase back the crossbow and its bolts. "I've got my AR anyway. This will just slow me down." He rolled his eyes. "Anything to make the baby stop crying."

Chase glowered at him indignantly. Before she could respond in kind, Tuck grabbed the knives and handed each of them a Bowie knife. He gave FDR the Sharpfinger, and kept the hatchet for himself. He gave Chase a look as he handed her the machete.

"Because we've got the rifles," he said by way of explanation, slapping the grip into her palm. The machete didn't have a belt sheath as the Bowies did, but it wedged through her belt nicely and stayed there just the same.

"Thanks, Dad," she said sarcastically.

Tuck shut the trunk. "Just doing my part," he said. "What my baby wants, my baby gets." It was a reference to the film The Break-Up, which she and Tuck had seen about a thousand times together and counted among their favorites. She wondered if life would ever return to "normal enough" for them to watch that movie together again.

Funny how situations like this made a person think of the simple things.

"Baby wanted a fucking big-ass gun," Chase said gloomily. "So she could feel safe and like she was taking care of herself."

"Well, now I'll take care of you," Tuck replied, leaning over to steal a quick kiss.

"The smell of that guy over there is making me sick enough," FDR informed them. "So if the two of you could just please..."

"All right, all right." Tuck hefted the rifle over his shoulder. "Let's get going. The sooner we find Jenner, the bet— _oh, shit!"_

Chase snapped her head around to stare at her fiancé in alarm, and then immediately followed his line of sight. Panic threatened to overwhelm her as she saw what he saw, and her heart began to race.

The dead were rising all over the garage.

Chase's mouth fell open as she turned in a circle. There were easily a dozen, dozen-and-a-half shambling bodies coming toward them. But how had they gotten in? Had they already been there? And how the hell were they going to get out now?

"Oh, _fuck," _FDR hissed.

"To the car," Tuck ordered, his tone clipped.

But there were four of the walking corpses blocking their path, and there was no way around them. They hissed and snarled and moaned, reaching for the three live, warm human bodies in front of them. Chase took an automatic step back, feeling completely taken aback. She was close to out-and-out panicking; humans with guns, living bad guys – she could handle those without blinking an eye. Dealing with that particular type of threat was more of an adrenaline rush than anything to her now, because she could study them and analyze them and predict their next moves and their trains of thoughts. Because they were humans; she _knew_ humans. But these things? They were so morbidly unwholesome, so grotesque and unnatural and confusing and _wrong_ that it was threatening to shred the last of her sanity. She hadn't realized that she had stopped dead in her tracks, staring at them as they approached, until she felt, for the second time that night, the icy brush of death against the flesh of her arm.

With a startled, disgusted cry, she executed another jumping push-kick, automatically reaching for the machete on her belt and without another thought, drove the wide, sharp, serrated blade right into its skull. She yanked it out, disgusted at the sight of the blade coated with blood and brain matter, and the corpse dropped to the floor, motionless.

FDR and Tuck exchanged looks, and FDR shrugged. Tuck gripped his rifle like a bat and with a heavy, powerful swing he bashed in the head of the next creature while FDR grabbed his Bowie knife and his Sharpfinger and proceeded to take out two of the creatures at the same time.

"Car!" Tuck shouted, and they ran for it, Chase stopping for just a beat to wipe off her blade on the shirt of the downed corpse nearest her feet. Tuck reached the driver's side door first and Chase leaped into the passenger seat, while FDR climbed into the back. He rammed his foot into the stomach of one of the creatures to shove it back and then slammed his door shut and Tuck locked all the doors. Chase tried to catch her breath as she looked around. The remaining creatures, easily over a dozen were converging on the vehicle; they needed to move, and fast, or else she feared they'd start breaking the windows, and she, Tuck, and FDR would become trapped, live hot meals for the creatures.

Tuck jammed the key into the ignition and revved the engine. The sound did nothing to frighten off the creatures, so he threw it into drive and slammed on the gas, barreling through them and hitting several corpses hard enough to send them flying. He burst out of the valet garage, turned right, and careened toward the next main street.

And right into sheer pandemonium.

Tuck slammed on his breaks as he reached the intersection. The street was full of vehicles and people – and more creatures. Chase couldn't believe how _many_ of the walking corpses there seemed to be. They were staggering after the living, who were screaming and running and many of them were bleeding profusely from bites and other wounds inflicted by the undead in their ravenous desire to get to them.

Up ahead, it appeared that a gas tanker had collided in an intersection with a truck, and the tanker was leaking gas as smoke rose from the collision. Chase's heart sank. It was going to explode any second.

"How are we supposed to get the fuck out of here?" FDR demanded.

"I see an opening, up ahead," Tuck said. "I can definitely maneuver us through this – but that gas tanker up ahead is making me bloody fucking nervous. We'd have to go past it."

"Maybe we should just wait for it to explode," Chase said doubtfully. "I don't want to be anywhere near that thing when it does blow up, and even a block away is too damn close."

"We can't just sit here," FDR argued, and his point was punctuated by two of the creatures staggering past their car, catching sight of them, and turning to slam their hands against the hood and roof of the car. "You've gotta go!"

Tuck hit the gas and yanked the wheel, and scooted the car past the corpses into the street. Chase clutched at the door handle as he cut through car space and wedged his way past cars that all seemed to be empty. Apparently their passengers had given up on trying to get through the street and had abandoned their cars for the hope of doing better on foot. And they weren't.

But not everyone could be fortunate enough to have someone like Tuck behind the wheel, Chase thought in relief. He was definitely the best driver of the three of them, and she felt enormously comfortable with him in control.

Until they got closer to the tanker and the truck.

It wasn't clear what had happened to the driver of either vehicle. But the smoke that steamed up was starting to turn from white to gray to black, and Chase knew that the gas was heating up. The relief she felt just a moment ago evaporated and dread filled her. She understood that there was a very good chance that they could get past the wreck and be just fine. But she also knew that this was _them_ and they seemed to have the worst luck at the worst times. Tuck brought the car to a stop about a hundred feet away and glanced at her, and then at FDR.

"Well?" he asked hesitantly. "What d'you think?"

"I don't know," Chase said uncertainly, eyeing the wreck. "It just – I've got a really bad feeling about this. Isn't there another way around?"

"And I've got a really strong desire to _not_ become fucking zombie chow," FDR replied, and glanced through the back window. "Apparently these things must know enough to know that this is a car, which is operated by a human, because here they come."

"What?" Before Chase could turn around to see what he was talking about, the entire car lurched forward as the walking corpses descended onto it. She couldn't bite back a scream of shock as the car was shoved again, and she heard the back window splinter.

"Tuck, drive!" FDR yelled, ducking down in the seat as another blow hit the window. "Fucking drive, man!"

"Sorry, love," Tuck murmured to her, before throwing the car back into gear and hitting the gas. He sped toward the wreckage, and Chase winced and reflexively covered her eyes. There was a small opening to the very right of the crash that would allow them to pass, if he got onto the sidewalk a little. Tuck turned the wheel and started inching toward it, as though driving slow would somehow hold the impending explosion at bay. The car bumped and tilted as the passenger-side wheels jounced over the curb onto the sidewalk, and Chase groaned out loud and kept her hands over her eyes as Tuck continued on.

"Will not seeing it make it suck any less?" FDR asked her sarcastically from the back.

"Just shut up," Tuck said, frowning in concentration. "We're almost passed it. Look, sweetheart. We're clear."

Chase slowly pulled her hands away from her eyes as the truck bounced back onto even ground from the sidewalk, and saw that they had indeed just passed the wreckage, which was still smoking. She breathed a heavy sigh of relief, and grabbed Tuck's hand.

"Thank you," she said earnestly. "God, I was so terrified for a second. I really thought –"

_Boom._

The explosion was deafening, and a wave of heat, force and fire burst into the sky. The impact barreled into the small car, and tilted it up forward until only the front two tires were on the ground and shoved it forward, fast and hard, for tens of feet. As the trunk rose higher and more unsteady in the air, Chase gasped. She knew the car was about to flip, and none of them were wearing seat belts.

Just as she was reaching for her belt, ithout warning, the back end of the car slammed back down, and FDR bounced violently in his seat, striking the top of his head against the ceiling of the car and moaning in pain. The entire vehicle bounced on its tires from the force of the explosion and the change in positioning and Chase grabbed the dashboard to keep from going headfirst into it. The airbag in the steering wheel deployed and Tuck was thrust back in his seat. Chase yanked a knife from her belt and stabbed it to get it out of his face, and the three of them sat still for a moment, breathing hard.

"Frank, you all right?" Tuck asked harshly.

FDR rubbed the top of his head, his eyes closed. "Holy fuck. Is the car still spinning? I think I might puke."

"Stay still," Chase commanded. "You took a nasty smack to the top of the head and you've probably got a concussion. Don't move, okay, Foster?"

"Roger that one," he replied weakly.

After a little while, Tuck spoke. "Lost my mirror."

Chase looked. It was true – his driver's side mirror was gone. She glanced over to hers, out of pure curiosity. It was missing as well. "Mine, too."

Tuck cracked the window of the car and glanced out and back. "Sort of important. They probably came off back there."

"And they're probably in a million pieces by now," FDR said. "Forget it, Tuck."

"I can't drive properly without the mirrors, Franklin," Tuck said impatiently. "Not to mention that it might be nice to know who's sneaking up on us. And I'd rather not have to check by sticking my head out the window."

"No," Chase said firmly. "For once, I am in total agreement with Foster."

"Chase, I am just going to walk twenty feet back that way." Tuck jerked his thumb in the direction he wanted to go. "Look around – that explosion seemed like it got rid of a bunch of the creatures. I don't see any. Maybe they don't like the smoke, if they weren't immediately in the blast zone." He opened his car door. "You two stay here – keep an eye on me. I'm going to find those mirrors."

Before Chase could say another word, Tuck hopped out. "Dammit, Tuck!" Chase popped her door open, preparing to go after him.

"No!" he called back, holding up a hand. "Stay with Frank."

Chase settled for keeping her door open and kneeling on her seat, hanging out of the door to keep an eye on Tuck as he moved back toward the heavily smoking, fiery wreckage. She drummed her fingers nervously on the roof, her eyes darting all around as she checked for signs of danger. Her eyes snapped back to Tuck when she heard a low bark of laughter.

"I found one," he called. Then to himself, "I can't bloody believe it..." She watched as he bent to retrieve it from the ground, feeling a little amazed herself. "This one's mine, I believe. Yours is probably over here..." He trotted toward the other side of the street. "Think I found something."

"Ugh, shit," FDR suddenly moaned, and rubbed his head again, squeezing his eyes shut.

"Foster?" Chase asked alertly. "You okay?" She realized that she didn't know what the state of the hospitals would be at this time; she was pretty sure gnawed human flesh and virus-ridden, violent cannibals would probably trump a concussion, and she knew they didn't have much that would help him.

"Fucking head is aching like a son of a bitch," he griped. "Damn."

"Hang on." Chase ducked into the car and grabbed her bag. She fished out a bottle of water and handed it to him, then grabbed a small bottle of Tylenol and gave him a couple. "This should help with the pain." She reached into Tuck's bag and tossed him a small package of crackers. "This for the nausea. Otherwise, you're just going to have to rest, my friend."

"_Shit!_"

The sudden, gruff shout from outside startled her, and with a pounding heart she jumped out of the car. She gasped.

A zombie had Tuck on the ground, who was desperately holding it at bay as it gnashed its teeth, trying hard to get at Tuck's warm flesh. It looked like it had once been a large man, and it was giving Tuck a run for his money. Chase immediately knew what she had to do, and didn't hesitate.

_Bam!_

In a spray of blood, the creature's head snapped violently back, revealing a perfectly round puncture hole in its forehead, and it immediately released its grip on Tuck and slid off to the side of him. Tuck grabbed something off the ground and scrambled back, panting. He looked back at Chase, his eyes wide.

"If I wasn't already marrying you, I would demand that you be my wife," he said gruffly.

"Baby," Chase said, relieved. "Are you –"

A collective, loud snarling, moaning noise met their ears, and they exchanged a frightened look for a beat before looking back toward the wreckage. Out of the smoke, what had to be two dozen of the creatures were shambling toward them.

"Tuck!" Chase screamed, taking three running steps toward him.

"No, Chase!" he shouted back, scrambling to his feet. "Get back in the car. Now!"

Chase hesitated in a panic as Tuck broke into a run back toward the car. She turned to head back, then screamed again when she came face to face with another of the creatures. Behind it, there were at least five more. She let loose a flurry of hard strikes to its chest, stopping it in its tracks and moving it away from her.

_Thunk!_

A smooth, muted sound met her ears, accompanied by the soft breezing burst of air by her head, and suddenly, a long stick became lodged in the creature's head and it fell to the ground. Chase looked over her shoulder, amazed.

FDR was half-hanging out of the car, holding the crossbow. He was breathing hard and squinting, but he gave her a little grin. She turned back and risked a moment to yank the bolt out of the creature's head even as the others descended on her. She yanked her knife out of her belt and slammed it through the skull of the one that was closest, then yanked her knife back and back-pedaled toward the car, just as Tuck reached it.

She all but fell into her seat as Tuck threw the car into drive again, and she barely had time to slam her door closed before another creature was reaching for her. Tuck sped off quickly, holding the two mirrors in his lap, his chest heaving with breaths. In the backseat, FDR stretched out, one hand on his head, one hand still clutching the crossbow, his eyes squeezed shut in pain.

Chase looked out the window anxiously, then over at Tuck. "Lock the doors," she said in a small voice. "And step on it."


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: And now we are caught up to where I left off last time...yeesh, back in January I think. Thanks for reading. XO**

**Chapter 6**

The night had a very eerie, dreamlike quality to it. Well, more of a nightmare, really. The term "dream" had, for Chase, a gentle, ethereal connotation. It brought to mind misty gray atmospheres, ghostly figures in gossamer-like clothing, whispers, echoes.

This, what she was living right now, was nothing but fire, screams, crashes, horns, more screams, and absolute terrified chaos. So really, maybe it was more like hell, even, than a nightmare.

It reminded Chase of a video game she'd played before called Silent Hill; it was a survivalist horror game, with strange people and creatures and terror and death lurking around every corner. The difference here was, this was actually happening and it was far more in-your-face than any fictitious world created with CG and advanced programming.

No. Maybe it was sort of like the Thriller video, where the dead were shambling down the streets. But again, the difference was that there was no costuming, no lights, no music, no complex choreography, and no young Michael Jackson in his prime in his red leather outfit, dancing his ass off.

Maybe this was all some elaborate hoax, with the finest of props and actors and sets and directors. Maybe some wealthy billionaire got bored and wondered what would happen if he set a major city in the South up to believe the end of the world was happening, just to fuck with people.

The truth was, there was no way to rationalize what was happening. And Chase had a rational mind; she was constantly seeking the answer, finding the root cause and analyzing it, constantly strategizing. It was what she got paid to do, and how she'd stayed alive in her line of dangerous work. But there was no rationalization for this. It was what it was – some sort of apocalypse, where a virus cooked up by a madman in a lab had gotten out somehow and was turning living, breathing human beings into shambling, rotting, violent shells, spurred on by only the need to feed and the scent of blood.

They drove along in silence through the streets. The hope had been to find some sort of back road, some way they could escape this madness, find a safe place to hole up and rest, get some weaponry together, perhaps call for backup, before re-entering the city to find this Dr. Jenner and bring him. The National Guard would be on hand to find the survivors; three CIA operatives were simply not sufficient to try to round up anyone who'd made it out of this newly turned hellhole.

But so far, it seemed getting _out_ of the city was what every person _in_ the city seemed to be trying to do, as well. Traffic was practically at a standstill, horns were blaring constantly, and the night was pierced with screams and the sound of gunshots.

She glanced up, and noted that they were just under roughly half a mile from an enormous, sprawling hospital. Grady Memorial, the sign said. She wondered how many of the cars in the street were desperately trying to get there; how many wouldn't make it there before they were killed and then brought back to life by this morbid disease.

"You all right, love?"

Tuck's quiet murmur made her turn her head from peering out of the passenger side window. She met his earnest blue eyes and tried to muster up a smile, but she failed.

"I don't know," she said truthfully. "I'm – my mind is racing right now."

"Mine, too," Tuck muttered. He looked out the windshield. "What I do know is that we have got to get out of this traffic. We're not going anywhere anytime soon."

There was a groan from the backseat and they both looked over their shoulders. FDR was sprawled across the seat, his eyes closed, one hand to his forehead. "I feel like shit."

"Is the aspirin not helping?" Chase asked.

"Not really. I still feel like puking a little. And my head hurts like a sonuvabitch."

Chase bit her lip. He was more than likely concussed, but their limited supplies didn't yield anything else to give him that she hadn't already. "You want some water?"

Before FDR could answer, the car lurched to the side violently and the sound of breaking glass filled the air. Chase wrenched around in her seat, then hastily reached down to unbuckle her seatbelt. She gasped as she saw one of the creatures, a hugely built male that had to have been a fucking _bodybuilder _in life, smash its fist through the back passenger-side window. Glass flew everywhere and she felt it hit her face and crunch suddenly between her teeth.

FDR's eyes widened and he drew his legs back hastily, trying to scoot back away from the broken window, but as his back hit the other door, there wasn't room for him to move, and the creature was reaching into the backseat.

Chase was vaguely aware of the human shouting that was going on; she couldn't tell if it came from her, or Tuck, or FDR, or each of them, but her body slid into instinct mode, her conscious mind taking a backseat as her muscles began to move her body of their own accord. She yanked her machete from her belt as FDR kicked out at the creature, his foot connecting solidly with its face. It stumbled back just a little, and Chase took the opportunity to roll down her window and pop out, her feet on the seat. She braced herself with one hand against the door frame and as the creature reached through the window again, she brought her machete down viciously through the back of its skull and then yanked it out. It fell where it stood.

Another creature came toward her from the same side, and then she became aware of a few more creatures descending on the car from the driver's side. She sensed Tuck moving as she leaned against the frame and swung a leg out the window in a hard side kick. She watched as the creature's jaw bone slid completely out of alignment before bringing her knee to her chest and then ramming it forward in an equally hard front kick. She felt the small bones of its face break under the force of her kick, and felt utter dismay when it failed to flatten the creature as it would have a human. She adjusted her body weight and stabbed out with her knife, slamming the blade into its forehead. That seemed to be the only thing that worked – direct brain trauma.

The creatures on the other side of the car were slamming their fists against the window. Tuck was rolling the window down, his Glock in his hand, after having bodily yanked FDR across the seat away from the new threat.

"No!" Chase hissed. "Don't waste the bullets, and don't make the noise!"

Tuck turned toward her at the sound of her voice, but Chase didn't hang around for further discussion; she reached out the window again and grabbed onto the roof of the car, swinging her body up and out, and scrabbled over the roof of the car like a crab to quickly dispatch the two creatures before they could break the other back window, too. She grabbed her Bowie knife in her left hand and brought both blades down simultaneously with as much of her considerable force as possible. With a heavy, sharp grunt she yanked the blades back and watched with cold satisfaction as their bodies hit the ground. She remained crouched on the roof, glancing around in each direction to see if there were any new threats approaching. Somehow, they seemed to be the only ones in a close radius. She could see more of the creatures, but they were blocked from reaching them due to the insane amount of cars in street.

She swung herself back into the window and slid into her seat. She saw that Tuck was leaning around his seat, looking at a wound FDR had sustained. She couldn't see it, but she could smell the bright, coppery scent of blood in the air.

"What is it?" she asked anxiously, her heart pounding with dread. "Foster, were you bitten?"

He was panting harshly and looked a little pale as he held up his arm. "Not a bite. Unless you count the glass biting me."

She felt a strange mix of relief and concern; it may not have been a bite, but it was a long, wide, ugly tear in his arm that was bleeding profusely and needed stitches. For one thing, the longer it stayed open the more susceptible he would be to infection – _any _infection. And for another, if these creatures had any sense of smell about them, they'd lock onto their vulnerable position in the damaged car, and it would be a free-for-all.

She caught sight of the glowing sign of Grady Memorial Hospital and stared at it, her mind whirling. If she could find the dispensary, she could get some materials to stitch up FDR as well as some effective medication and antibiotics, and plenty of first-aid supplies to supplement what they had. Under normal circumstances, it would be a breeze to break into the dispensary. With havoc and pandemonium going on, it could go either way. On the downside, the hospital probably had its share of unfriendlies, and with a building that big, there was no telling if the place was overrun. On the other hand, security around the dispensary would likely be at a minimum.

"We've got to get him stitched up," she said. "Not to mention, he's at risk of infection, so he's going to need antibiotics. And we are completely without any other medicines or first aid supplies."

Tuck glanced at her sharply, following her line of sight toward the hospital. "Even if I could get off this road and up to that hospital, it's going to be a bloody madhouse in there," he insisted. "Literally. You heard that news reporter – all of the hospitals are overflowing with bite cases, and there's no telling how many turned infected are roaming the halls. And I'm not sure he's in any condition to be running through the hallways of a hospital. Not to mention, are we supposed to politely ask the first doctor we see to please give him some stitches and send us on our way?"

"You wouldn't have to get off the road," Chase replied, completely ignoring the rest of his statement. "You'd stay here with FDR, and I'll make a run."

Tuck grabbed her arm. "Are you mad?" he demanded. "I'm not going to let you go in there alone. We can find supplies elsewhere. Besides, do you even know _how_ to stitch up a wound?"

"I'll be the first to admit I'm no surgeon, but I know basic triage," Chase insisted. "This may come as a shock, but I _do _have an ounce of field experience. And we can't _wait _to find supplies elsewhere – do you see how he is bleeding all over the fucking place? We don't know where we're going to end up or how long it's going to take, and personally I have no interest in watching your best friend bleed to death on the backseat."

"That's a little dramatic," FDR chimed in from the back, his voice rough with pain. "I just sliced my arm open, okay? Not my carotid artery. Also, can you guys stop discussing me like I'm not right here?"

Chase ignored him. "I can be in and out fast. And, I might add that we don't have any other options right now."

"This is not about letting anyone bleed to death," Tuck said sharply. "This is about getting your back. One bite and it's over, Chase. And not to mention the fact that you froze up back at the hotel."

Chase turned on him, her eyes blazing. "I'm aware that I was a bit _taken aback_ in the hotel," she said, her voice an angry growl. "Thank you very much for pointing that out again. _However_, I am over my initial shock."

"I wasn't insulting you," Tuck said impatiently. "I'm saying that no one should face these things alone."

"Well, we can't leave Foster here alone," Chase pointed out. "Only one of us can go. Someone has to stay here with him. He's practically defenseless."

"Fuck off," FDR mumbled from the back.

Chase shook her head and looked at Tuck. "Just listen," she said. "We need supplies. We need weapons, we need food, and we need medicine. In general. And now, specifically, we have a medical emergency. Supplies are staring us in the face right now. We have no idea where we're going to end up, or what we're going to encounter along the way, and the longer we let his wound go untreated the more we risk his life."

"I understand," Tuck muttered, swiping a hand over his face. "This shit is just – this is just insane. I'm not supposed to be sending my fiancée alone into a disease-filled cesspool of a hospital, to get medical supplies to perform field triage on my best mate, who's bleeding out in the backseat because a _monster _tried to attack him!"

"I'm not fucking bleeding out!" FDR said, sounding annoyed. "Stop saying that shit."

Chase ignored him. "Has this night played out at all like you thought it would?" she asked rhetorically. "No. We're supposed to be sleeping and you're supposed to be going back to the CDC tomorrow for more creepy time with Dr. Jenner. And that's not going to happen now. So we do what we're trained to do and we adapt and we survive." She glanced over her shoulder. "And he's hurt. He needs help as soon as possible."

She reached down and picked up her Glock, making sure it was loaded and ready to go. She stuffed an extra mag in her pocket, checked to make sure her knives were still tucked into her belt, and reached for the door handle.

"No," Tuck said. "I'll go."

"Do you even know what to look for?" Chase asked. The look on Tuck's face answered her question. "Look, the sooner I get going, the sooner I'll be back," she said. "Just stay here. Not like you have a choice anyway."

"Chase, we're at least a bloody half-mile from the hospital entrance!" Tuck said.

"More like a few blocks." Chase pulled the handle of the door.

"Just hang on."

Chase turned to glare, thinking he was going to waste more time arguing with her, when suddenly he yanked the wheel and the small car jounced onto the sidewalk. He maneuvered the car down the walk, stopping when a group of the undead staggered toward him.

Chase watched as Tuck clenched his jaw and grabbed his gun, rolling his window down. He stuck his arm out and fired three shots, each hitting the creatures in their foreheads. He pulled his arm back in and rolled up the window.

"Nice shooting," Chase commented. "Left-handed."

"Yeah, well," Tuck muttered darkly, speeding down the sidewalk. "When your fiancée is hell-bent on reckless behavior, desperate times call for desperate measures."

"Why is everything I do reckless?" Chase demanded.

"That's what I'd love to fucking know," Tuck replied.

Chase shook her head. "No, I mean, why is it that you interpret everything I do as reckless?"

"Because it is," Tuck said simply, then slammed on the breaks and rolled his window down to dispatch another creature in the way.

"Tuck," Chase said, gripping what she affectionately called the "oh, shit!" handle above her window, "I get that you worry about me, and I love you for it. But I need you to trust me. Okay?"

"We're doing this right now, really?" FDR said from the back. "Pre-marital counseling when I'm bleeding to death back here?"

Tuck didn't reply, his eyes glued to the road. "There's a small alley up there," he said. "That's as close as I can get you."

"I'll take it." It was still about a block away from the hospital, and there were the infected and people everywhere, but it was going to be much easier to navigate than three blocks' worth of the same.

He guided the vehicle sharply into the alley, which ended in a brick wall and a dumpster between two buildings. It was empty for the time being, and Chase hoped that it would stay that way. This position could either serve as a shield from an attack, or it could effectively put them in position for an overrun.

She fervently hoped that the latter wouldn't happen.

She grabbed the door handle again and prepared to jump out, and then felt Tuck's hand on her arm again. She whirled to face him, struggling to keep her impatience at bay. Tuck frowned at her, then pulled her in close and kissed her.

"Stay safe," he whispered against her lips. "If you're not back in an hour, I'm coming in after you."

"I won't need that long," she promised, and kissed him again. Over her shoulder she added, "Hold on, Foster. Help coming up."

"Unnh," he replied.

She opened the door and slid out, pausing for a moment. She glanced at Tuck. "Keep the windows up and don't let them see you," she warned. "I don't know what their olfactory senses are like, and they seem to respond to movement even though they look blind."

"Roger," Tuck replied. She nodded and shut the door, then stole around the car to the lip of the alley. She glanced out, seeing two fires on opposite sides of the street up ahead. The drivers that remained on the street pounded their horns, and there were people trying to flee on foot. There were also attacks happening all around her; it seemed that the infected could turn within minutes. From what she could tell the National Guard was already out on the streets, and every now and then above the shouting she could hear the sharp _rat-tat-tat _of an assault rifle.

She glanced to her left, and then to her right, and slipped out of the alley. She tried to cling to the shadows to remain unseen as she stole toward the giant hospital. It seemed she was coming up on a side entrance, as opposed to the front, and that suited her, since there seemed to be less people and creatures near the side and the back.

Suddenly she heard footsteps lumbering toward her, and one of the creatures was suddenly upon her. She cursed herself for not being more aware of her surroundings and skipped away from it as fast as possible. It was less slow and unsteady than others she'd seen and followed her quick, cat-like movements without too much trouble. She stopped moving and waited for it to get closer, her muscles tensing, and then when it was within reach she swung out with her machete and drove it through the creature's skull. She had her knife yanked out of its head and was already running toward the hospital before it even hit the ground.

She turned off the main street to head for the back of the hospital, as the sidewalk sloped downhill. She spotted a door and ran for it, seeing a small herd of creatures about twenty feet to her right. She reached the door and yanked on the handle, and realized it was locked. She glanced over her shoulder again, and wedged the tip of her knife into the door, testing the lock. It was futile; it was an electronic lock that would require a magnetic badge to open.

_Desperate times call for desperate measures, _she thought and pulled her gun from the holster on her hip. She shot the lock once and with a burst of sparks, smoke and some electronic beeps and squawks, the door unlocked. She yanked it open just as the group behind her closed the distance another ten feet and slammed it shut. She glanced around, seeing she was in a stairwell.

_Well, hell, _she thought. She had no clue where to go. Without the proper time to do research on the building, she had no idea where the dispensary might be located. There was a ground-floor door directly in front of her, and she paused for a moment. There would surely be some information as to the hospital's layout in the lobby area; however, the lobby area would also more than likely be overrun with wounded people and the infected. On the other hand, she didn't have time to waste running up endless stairwells, through various hospital floors, trying to find out where they kept the good shit.

She gripped her machete in her left hand, her Glock in her right, and shoved through the door.

It opened to the backside of the brightly lit hospital lobby, and as she'd predicted, it was absolute chaos. People were running everywhere; there was blood streaked on the floors and the walls, there was endless screaming and crying, and some deeper, more guttural noises that let her know the infected had breached the interior of the hospital.

Nevertheless, she barreled forward. There was no way she was going to be able to stand in place and read the nice little directory map they had posted on a lit kiosk, and there was no way she was going to have time to rifle through computer records or file folders trying to find the same information. She needed a staff member.

Movement to her right.

Automatically she lifted her Glock though she didn't intend to shoot unless she absolutely had to, the barrel immediately finding the threat. It was a middle-aged woman, or it had been once, dressed in scrubs. _Hey, staff member,_ she thought dryly.

She lowered the gun and when the woman – the creature – drew closer, she slammed her right forearm against its throat, shoving it into the nearest wall, and then used her left to drive the machete home. She skirted the edge of the lobby, trying to put as much distance between herself and the chaos as possible.

"Close the door! Shut it!"

The shout drew her attention to the right, and she saw a set of double doors that a couple of blood-covered but very much human EMTs were trying to shut. Just beyond the doors she saw a gurney on which there was a body. She quickly surmised that the EMTs must be making desperate runs across the lobby and shutting the doors to close off against any potential breaches.

_Well, I'm breaching._

"Wait!" she yelled, racing toward them.

One of the EMTs looked up. His eyes widened and he shook his head. "Sorry, lady! We can't take any chances!"

Chase lifted her Glock and pointed it at his face to make a point. "I said _wait,_ goddammit!"

The doors slammed shut.

"Fuck!" Chase skidded to a stop, and then immediately ducked when a gray, bloody arm swung toward her. She scuttled around behind the threat, a very tall, thin infected man. He lurched around to follow her and she slid to the side and kicked his legs out from underneath him. He toppled over easily and she put her blade through his head.

She got to her feet and ran for the doors, throwing her body weight against them They must have locked the doors somehow from the other side, because though they gave a little under her weight and force, they didn't open. She tried again, grunting from the effort, and wound up with a sore shoulder and nothing to show for her pains.

She decided to make a run back toward the stairwell. If she could get to the second floor, she might be able to run into some staff. And hopefully, fewer infected and less pandemonium.

She reached the door that opened to the stairwell and yanked it open. She slipped inside and turned to make sure that it was shut tightly. The sound of a low snarl, punctuated by a hiss, brought her up short and she whipped around, lightning fast, eyes wide.

The outer door was hanging slightly open; when she shot out the lock, apparently it damaged the latching mechanism as well. Chase froze as she watched a bloody hand wrap around the edge of the door and push.

She was on the stairs in a flash, leaping up them two at a time when the small herd that had turned into a big herd poured into the stairwell. Every head turned in her direction when she hit the next landing, and it was like the group let out a collective growl.

_Oh, shit._

Chase kicked her legs into gear and flew up the next flight of stairs just as the group began to lurch up after her. She reached for the door that opened to the second floor and shoved push bar, then slipped into the quiet hallway and leaned all of her weight against the door to get it to shut. She huddled on the floor for a moment, realizing there was no real way to keep them out. While she figured they didn't possess the intelligence to understand that the push bar unlatched the door and would open, it wouldn't take more than a few seconds for one of them to press against the door and stumble through.

They were getting closer in the stairwell. She knew she had to get moving; she could hold the door closed against a handful of them, but not a crowd of a dozen. She scuttled away from the door, close to the ground to stay out of sight lest one of the creatures spot her through the door's small window, and took off down the hall. She wasn't sure at first what the specialty was of the floor she was on, but as she passed a credit union and later what looked like a large conference room, it appeared to be nothing medically related.

Which meant she would likely have to go higher and further into the building.

She heard a noise behind her and whirled; they'd figured out the push bar. She quickly doubled back toward the conference room and slipped inside the door, where she could hide but see what was going on.

She glanced around the darkened room, her senses on high alert for any threats that might be hiding in the darkness. She strained her ears, but couldn't hear anything. She'd learned long ago that there was a difference between being alone in a silent room, or in a room with a silent person. She'd honed her senses over the years to tell the difference, and she didn't get the vibe that there was another living soul in the room with her. This surprised her; based on the amount of people in the lobby she would have thought that this level would have been teeming with people.

That it wasn't was distinctly unnerving.

She heard the sound of numerous sets of heavy, dragging feet and held her breath, her heart hammering wildly. Her fist tightened around the butt of her Glock and she gathered herself as close to the door as possible, trying to make herself as small as she could. They moved slowly but steadily, and it took every ounce of willpower she had not to pop her head out the door to check on their progress.

The shuffling came to a halt right outside the conference room door. Her body tensed automatically as she felt the door being pushed. _Go away, _she thought. _Go away go away go away go away._

If they didn't go away and somehow found out how to get inside, she was going to have a problem on her hands. There was no other way out of this room beyond the two double doors she was currently sitting against. She might be able to jump up on a table and start picking them off, but the sound could draw unwanted attention from other places in the hospital.

She jumped when she was thrown violently forward as one of them slammed their hands against the door; she folded her lips inward to choke off a cry of surprised terror. _They can't possibly know I'm in here,_ she thought wildly.

Unless they could smell her.

Her mind whirled rapidly. There was no telling how many other creatures might be in the hospital right now, but Chase knew she was getting tired of being stalked by this group. She didn't want to waste the bullets and risk drawing more attention by shooting them, but maybe if she could corral them in here, she could barricade the door and get them off her back.

From the interior of the meeting room, the doors opened outward by pulling on its handles. She glanced around the room, her eyes having adjusted to the darkness, and saw what looked like a long table covered with a white tablecloth.

She lurched forward again as there was another push on the door. She took a deep breath to prepare herself, then crawled rapidly across the room to yank the tablecloth off the table, wadding it up and tucking it under her arm. She grabbed a leg of the table and pulled it along the carpet with her, positioning it close to the door and turning it on its side so she could use the tabletop as cover before creeping back toward the door, sidling along the floor. She used the heel of her boot to nudge one of the doors open, and then jumped behind the table, holding still, and waiting.

The door made a horrible creaking noise as it opened, and for a moment, there was nothing but silence. Chase's eyes darted unseeing back and forth as she waited for the sound of movement. Then, she heard the noise of feet scuffing against carpet as they started to shuffle into the room, gasping and grunting with their movements.

She risked a quick peek around the edge of the table; the group of roughly twelve was heading toward the back of the room, and didn't seem to have noticed the overturned table yet. She glanced toward the door, about a dozen feet from her position. _Now or never,_ she thought, and crawled around the table, pressing herself to the wall.

She sidled sideways, wanting to stay as low and small as possible, and reached the door, seeing that it had shut behind the last one that had entered. _Fuck. _She took another deep, steadying breath, shoved it open, her skin crawling at the loud creaking noise, and slipped out as fast as possible just as their heads swiveled toward the door. There was a collective snarl and bodies began moving toward her.

_Move! _she shrieked silently. She shoved the door closed and wove the tablecloth through the door handles. She struggled against the bountiful material to make a knot, tying the ends together. The first bodies crashed against the door just as she made the first knot; the force of their shove almost made her topple backward but she grit her teeth and tied the end two more times in as tight a knot as she could manage. It was definitely a piss-poor barricade, but it was the best she could come up with and would buy her at least a little time to get away.

She backed away from the door and turned to run when she crashed into the solid torso of a lone creature. She yelped in surprise and instantly began a reflexive flurry of strikes and kicks, the force of her attack sending the creature careening backwards across the hall until it crashed into the opposite wall. It growled and hissed at her before shoving away from the wall and rushing toward her. She had just barely enough time to wrench her machete out of her belt and stab it through the forehead before its gnashing teeth ripped at her face.

She yanked her knife free and the body toppled over, and Chase stumbled back against the wall next to the conference room doors, her heart beating wildly and her breath whooshing out of her lungs in uneven, ragged gasps. Next to her, the herd she'd trapped was slamming against the doors but she couldn't seem to make her body move.

_This is not going well,_ she thought, and somehow found the strength to shove off the wall and run for the stairwell. She hesitated on the landing; she could try the third floor or maybe she should go higher.

_I just need to find a living, breathing human who works in this place,_ she thought desperately. _Please!_

She followed her instincts and went up, hoping she wouldn't waste any more valuable time.


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: And we're all caught up and back with a brand-spanking-new chapter! Thank you for patience and your reviews while I reworked this thing. Please enjoy this chapter and leave me some comments telling me your thoughts. Now let's go! xoxo**

**Chapter 7**

"How you doin', mate?" Tuck asked, keeping his eyes in a moving rotation between the rearview mirror, the side mirrors, and glancing behind them through the back window.

"Just fucking peachy," FDR mumbled back. He was using a bit of his shirt to press against the wound on his arm to ebb the steady ooze of blood. Chase had been gone for almost half an hour by now, and Tuck was growing increasingly unsettled and more and more antsy with every passing moment.

_Fucking stupid, you are, _he chided himself, _letting her go off by herself. There's no telling _–

He shut the thought down before it could grow anymore. Chase was one of the best, he told himself firmly, more than capable, tough, strong, fast, and a quick thinker. Her damnably impetuous nature could also serve her well in a situation like this, because her instincts were honed to a fine, sharp point and she could act off of them independently, like a switch, in moments that could preserve her life.

Then again, none of them, to his knowledge anyway, had ever gone up against the undead before. That was a horse of an entirely different, disgusting and dangerous color.

Tuck glanced at his watch again, knowing that it was completely pointless since it had been less than a minute since the last time he'd checked it. He'd told her she had an hour before he'd go in after her. And she'd assured him she wouldn't need that long. He tried not to think about Chase getting overrun by a large group. She was quick and agile, but what if she got caught unawares? The horrible idea of her getting cornered, with nowhere to go, nowhere to run, no way to escape, filled his mind, and he bit his lip against an involuntary groan of displeasure that he felt bubbling into his mouth.

The thought of his Chase, his beautiful, feisty, reckless, maddeningly amazing love, turning into one of those _things_ was so abominable it made his eyes sting.

"Hey, Mr. Deep-in-Thought," FDR said from the backseat. "Stop worrying about her. She's fine. She's got it under control."

"I know," Tuck replied automatically. "I just – I hate the thought of her being alone out there."

"Well, shit. I feel bad for the zombies. Right?" He reached up to lightly punch Tuck's shoulder.

"Zombies?" Tuck repeated, glancing covertly into the rearview mirror. "You really think, like…_zombies_?"

"Yeah, what else would you call them?" FDR asked rhetorically. "Obsessed with snacking on human flesh, can only be killed by head trauma, bodies in less-than-pristine condition…" He shrugged.

Tuck frowned. "I thought we were viewing them as humans who were the unfortunate victims of the spread of a dangerous virus."

"That too," FDR said negligently, leaning his head back against the seat and shutting his eyes. "'Zombies' is a little more succinct, though, I'd say."

"Don't let them hear you say it," Tuck said dryly, leaning his head back on the seat. "They might get excited and –"

As if on cue, Tuck heard the broken, raspy moan of hunger through the broken back passenger window and his eyes flew open.

"Ah, shit," he heard FDR mutter. "Tuck –"

In a flash, Tuck whipped around in his seat just as one of the undead – one of the zombies – leaned into the window. By the looks of it, it had once been a woman, middle-aged, and Tuck felt a pang of sympathy for an instant. It was a wretched thing, this disease that Jenner was so proud of himself for creating. It turned innocent people with real lives into real-life monsters, and it was actually incredibly heartbreaking.

However, the poor wretch that had once been a woman was trying to eat his best friend, so Tuck had no more time to be sympathetic.

He grabbed his knife and a handful of the creature's hair and drove the blade into its skull. It immediately went limp, and Tuck yanked his blade back and shoved it away. He glanced at FDR, who was leaning back with his head against the driver's side door, eyes closed, his chest heaving hard with heavy breaths. His hand was clenched around his hurt arm, but Tuck couldn't see any other injuries he might have sustained in the brief melee.

"You all right, mate?" he asked.

FDR nodded, his eyes still closed. "Yeah. Dizzy. Sick. Thanks for saving my bacon there, Tuck-Tuck."

"Of course. Who else would I have to annoy me if anything happened to you?" Tuck cracked weakly, punching FDR's knee, the closest body part to him.

"Well, Chase does a damn good job on occasion," FDR shot back weakly.

Tuck opened his mouth to reply, but the sight he saw out of the back window of the car made his mouth go dry.

He counted five, six, seven of the undead shambling toward the car and swallowed hard. The creatures' sense of smell must be at least above average if nothing else about them was; despite the madness still happening in the streets and the sound of the National Guard's machine guns growing louder and louder, this small group was still headed their way.

There was no way he was going up against seven creatures by himself with knives, but he wasn't willing to waste the bullets either. Tuck glanced at the crossbow on the seat next to FDR. This model held ten bolts, so his aim would have to be aces.

"Don't panic," he said, trying to keep his voice as neutral as possible.

"Oh, sure," FDR said darkly. "Now that you've opened a sentence that way, of course. I'm all calm."

Tuck reached for the bow. "Sit tight, mate."

He hefted the bow and slid out of his window, quickly climbing atop the roof. The creatures all raised their heads to follow his movement, all consumed with their single-minded focus. That much was good, anyway; if he could keep their attention, that meant they wouldn't be focused on the wounded man inside the vehicle.

Tuck propped the bow on his shoulder and frowned, taking aim. With a swoosh and a soft, muted _thunk_ the bolt found its mark in the forehead of the middle creature. It dropped instantly and the others paid it no mind as they continued to shuffle forward.

_Got to be quick, now, _he thought and yanked the bowstring back which was trickier than he'd thought it would be since he was kneeling. He got it back and hefted the bow again in a flash and took out another creature. The remaining five were halfway to the trunk now, and one of them began looking into the car.

_No, no, no,_ Tuck thought, rapidly reloading another bolt and aiming. He picked off the one that was looking too closely into the car and reloaded a fourth bolt. He claimed another creature before he determined that he could safely engage the other three more safely, and the result would be quicker. He slid off the roof down the back of the car, kicking his legs out and sending two of the zombies stumbling back. He leapt off the car and dispatched the zombie in front of him with a knife to the skull. It was still falling by the time he'd yanked another blade free and simultaneously drove them into the heads of the two zombies he'd kicked away, on either side of him.

He went to retrieve the bolts from the downed creatures' heads and glanced around. The threat, at least for now, had been neutralized. But it was time to move – their location had been compromised and they were, frankly, sitting ducks. And Chase was taking entirely too fucking long, because now another twenty minutes had passed.

He'd told Chase he'd give her an hour, and they were not quite at that time limit. He considered it; if she was in trouble, there might be a chance he could save her. And if she was fine, he could deal with her irritation and anger at having her skill questioned. He could deal with that. He couldn't deal with her dead, or worse. He shuddered involuntarily.

"Bugger your pride, love," he muttered to himself, turning on his heel and running for the car. "I'm coming after you."

* * *

><p>Chase opened the door to the fifth floor from the stairwell and peeked inside the immediate vicinity, which was a dim hallway. After pausing to listen and a cursory, furtive glance around to make sure it was empty, she collapsed on the floor in a heap, dropping the bloody machete in her hand on the floor. It made a clattering noise, but she was so thoroughly worn out and drained, physically and emotionally, that she couldn't really care.<p>

The third floor of the hospital had been a warzone. She had no idea what went on normally on the third floor, but tonight, it was nothing but screams and chaos and death and blood. To say that it was overrun with the infected was an understatement, and she witnessed, too many times, the undead gnawing on patients in their beds, the helpless patients unable to do anything to protect them.

She'd killed one of the creatures after such an episode, and for unknown reasons she approached the patient's bed. It was an elderly man, part of his neck ripped out, his bed and pillow bright red with his blood that was gushing from the wound.

His eyes rolled to her, to the knife in her hand, to the gun on her hip. He pointed weakly, his old, liver-spotted hand trembling. "Please," he had whispered, pointing at her knife and then shakily pointing to his chest. "Please. Help."

Chase's eyes had involuntarily filled with tears, vaguely surprising her. This was someone's grandfather lying here. He was probably beloved by his family. He probably had lots of grandkids. And now, his life was ending like this.

"Please," he whispered again. "It burns. Help me." He pointed at her knife again, and then again at his chest.

She understood what he was asking for. She met his gaze and even through the excruciating pain he had to be in, he nodded at her slightly. _It's okay, _his eyes seemed to say. _It's a kindness._

She had reached for a pillow and placed it gently over his face, so he wouldn't have to see. Then she waited just a beat, brought the knife up, and drove it down into his heart.

He'd been murdered by a creature, but he wouldn't have to suffer the same fate.

She'd returned to the stairwell after deciding there was nothing on the third floor that could do her any good, and rushed up to the fourth.

That had been even worse than the third floor, because the fourth floor was a children's ward.

She had skidded to a halt when she'd realized which floor she was on, and at the same moment when that terrible realization had hit her, she'd seen them. And then they'd seen her.

A dozen things that used to be children, all coming for her. She slammed the door on the horrible scene and stumbled back into the stairwell. Even if the dispensary was on this floor, there was no way she was going in there.

The fifth floor, so far, seemed a little quieter than the others. She finally got up from the floor and followed the hallway to the left, walking on the balls of her feet. Most of the rooms appeared vacated although she suspected it wasn't necessarily a good thing, because there was blood almost everywhere and the people that she found in the patient rooms were either dead or undead. In the case of the latter, she dispatched them.

She rounded a corner of the floor and saw an upright body in her peripheral vision, and immediately she jumped back, her heart pounding, and she brought both her gun and her knife up.

"Whoa!" a voice said. "No, I'm not one of those things! I swear!"

Chase blinked and dropped her arms, and took a good look at the guy in front of her. He was an orderly, a black guy in his early thirties, maybe. He looked scared shitless and shocked, and his hands were out in front of him. She looked at the badge hanging from his chest pocket. Eddie, it said.

"Who are you?" he asked cautiously, looking her over.

"I'm someone looking for the dispensary," Chase replied, urgency making her voice harsh. "Any clue where it is?"

"You're in luck," Eddie said grimly. "It's on this floor, actually."

"Take me there," Chase replied, and it wasn't a request.

The orderly folded his arms. "Only if you promise to get me out of here. You sort of look like you know what to do with that stuff." He gestured to her weapons.

Chase eyed him. He seemed fit, but that didn't mean he could fight, or that he knew his way around a weapon. He would probably only slow her down, but he was alive – a survivor. She couldn't leave him behind.

"All right," she said gruffly. "Now, please – I've had a shitty night, and I've got some people counting on me, so can you please help me out?"

Eddie looked immensely relieved. "Yeah," he said quickly. "C'mon, this way."

He started leading her down a corridor, talking rapidly at her, his voice hushed. "Was about eleven o'clock when shit started hitting the fan here. People biting each other, going insane. It spread like wildfire because no one knew to stay away from the biters, no one knows what it is. I only made it this far because I locked myself in a broom closet. I only came out when the screaming on this floor stopped and then I heard footsteps – musta been you. What's your name? Where are you headed?"

"I'm Chase," she replied, walking backward on the balls of her feet to keep an eye on what might be coming up behind them, ever-vigilant. "I need to get back to my group. One of us is hurt. That's why I need to get into the dispensary."

"Your friend, they bit?" Eddie asked. "'Cause if they're bit, ain't nothin' in the dispensary gonna help them."

"I'm aware of that," Chase said sharply. "And no, he's not bitten. He got a bad cut from a piece of glass. He needs stitches. How much further?"

"Just up here." Eddie pointed to a door on the right-hand side wall.

"You have the keys, right?" Chase asked. If he didn't it would be a huge pain in the ass – not to mention dangerous – endeavor to have to go back to where he had left his keys and then make it back over here.

"No keys," Eddie said, then lifted his badge. "Just this. Swipe it over a pad and it lets me in."

"Fantastic." Chase nodded.

They reached the door where the wall cut off, as it connected to a counter that appeared to open to a nurse's station of some sort. Each place at the long, circular desk was vacated, paper and files everywhere, and a little blood.

Eddie was extending his badge toward the reader next to the door, when a pair of hands reached around the corner of the wall and grabbed him. Chase jumped a foot and immediately lifted her gun as Eddie was yanked back, his brown eyes huge with fear. A moment later, a creature that might have once been one of the nurses appeared over his shoulder, and her mouth opened wide the instant before she tore into the side of his neck.

Eddie screamed and Chase looked on helplessly. She dispatched the creature easily enough, reaching around Eddie to jam her knife into its forehead, but she knew there was nothing she could do for Eddie, except watch him suffer.

She laid him down on the floor and looked at him anxiously. His eyes were rolling and blood gushed from his wound. He fumbled for her hand.

"Don't let me," he gasped, "become one of those things. Put me outta my misery."

Her second request of the night to euthanize someone. Chase wanted to refuse off of reflex, but there was nothing to do but nod.

"Shoot me," Eddie went on. "Make it quick. Don't wanna suffer much, if I don't have to."

His breathing was already growing shallower and raspier, his eyes were starting to film over. Chase knew she didn't have much time. She was hesitant to shoot him; the noise it would cause would be potentially problematic. Her eyes strayed to an empty patient room, remember the man she had killed earlier.

Without a word she had grabbed Eddie's hands and used all of her strength to drag him into the patient room. She shut the door, and realized that Eddie had gone still and silent, though he continued to breathe.

Chase clenched her jaw and reached for the pillows on the bed. She leaned down, straddling his chest, and pressed them against his head, and then pressed the gun to the top pillow.

"Thanks for everything," she murmured. "I'm sorry this happened to you, but I'm gonna try to make it right for everyone else. Rest well, Eddie."

She pulled the trigger.

The noise was still loud, but the echoes were muffled by the pillows. She felt Eddie's body jump beneath hers, and then he was still. Chase sat quietly for a moment, then removed the pillows.

There was a hole through one temple, blood pooling under his head, but he looked like he was sleeping. At any rate, he looked like he was still Eddie, and not something that had once been Eddie. She sighed and got up off of him, leaning down to swipe his badge. It wasn't attached to his shirt anymore. She checked his hands and then his pockets – nothing.

She opened the door to the patient room and peeked out. There it was – lying next to the body of the creature that had killed him. She trotted out toward the body and swiped the badge. She waved it across the reader as weariness suddenly washed over here, and slipped inside the room.

Chase leaned against the door, staring down at the bloody badge in her hand. She sighed and shook her head, thinking of Jenner. _This is your handiwork_, she thought with a sneer. _I hope you're fucking happy. I hope you're someplace getting ripped apart by your "test subjects", you piece of shit. _

Okay. Back to the task at hand.

She turned her attention to the shelves, not knowing where to start. Some kind of antibiotic for FDR, and perhaps a pain reliever. And materials to stitch him up. And to bind the wound, once stitched. She grabbed a pack of absorbable sutures that would dissolve on their own as the wound healed and a pack of needles. She grabbed gauze and medical tape, bottles of amoxicillin, hospital-grade Tylenol, antibacterial ointment, gloves, and hand sanitizer.

She hoped she'd gotten enough.

Chase dumped all of her supplies into a small canvas tote she saw lying on a shelf and tied the strings together. She pushed the door to the dispensary open and paused, listening, to ensure that she was still all by her lonesome on the fifth floor. She quickly stole through the hallways, clutching the bag in one hand and her Glock in the other, and made her way toward the door that opened to the stairwell.

She had just hit the third floor landing when she heard it; the unmistakable groaning hiss that she'd come to know all too well. And it was coming up the stairs toward her.

For a moment, she panicked. Her only exit outside was blocked. What were her options? Go back through the third floor disaster area to a death-trap elevator? Who knew what was inside them, anyway? Run back up the stairs?

_Calm down. Assess the threat. _

Chase took a deep breath and paused near the door that opened to the third floor. If necessary, she could duck in there and find someplace to hide until it was clear. As two ragged heads came into view, followed by nothing else, Chase decided she could handle them on her own. She set down her bag of supplies and pulled out her machete, and waited.

When the first one was within reach, Chase sprang up and jammed her blade into its skull, reflexively kicking out a leg to send the other one tumbling backward down the stairs. As the first one fell, she grabbed her bag and launched herself down the stairs just as the second creature was struggling to get up. She dispatched it quickly and then leapt over the body, hurrying down the stairs. She tried to keep her weight in the balls of her feet to lessen the noise.

She reached the bottom floor in no time and reached for the still slightly ajar door that she'd shot open what felt like ages ago, and pulled it open. Then she froze.

There was a crowd of at least two dozen zombies making their way toward the entrance and they all seemed to catch sight – smell? – of her at the same time, because they all let out a collective snarl and started to move toward her even faster.

_Shit, shit, shit!_

Chase whirled on the balls of her feet and yanked open the door that led into the lobby. There was an equally high chance that the lobby was as overrun as the outside, but her instincts didn't let her take that time to think. She just barreled through the door, struggling to pull it shut behind her, and tore through the lobby.

At first, a hasty glance around the room told her that aside from the bodies strewn around there was nothing there to be concerned with, since the front doors and long bay windows were complete busted out. But then the bodies in the lobby started to move, and then to stand.

_Dead rising, again!_

Chase only ran faster, leaping out of the way when a giant pair of arms swung toward her. She stopped just long enough to slam her blade through its forehead, dropping it, before hurdling through a jagged opening in what used to be a front window of the hospital. She ran out into the night, encountering sheer chaos.

There were at least a half a dozen fires she could see in every direction, some larger than others. Vehicles were overturned, and a few blocks over she could hear the _rat-tat-tat _of a military-issue machine gun. She could hear shrieks and groans, and there were bodies in the street, blood everywhere, and the mass of the undead had increased exponentially during the hour she'd been inside the hospital.

_"Uuunnnh!"_

She gasped and turned, and then ducked and sprang to the side, when she realized how close behind her one of the creatures was. It stumbled forward, its momentum propelling it past her, and she killed it quickly with her knife before tearing off in the general direction of where she had left Tuck and FDR in the car.

As she pounded up the block she felt like the Pied Piper of zombies, because she was amassing quite a crowd on her tail as she went. She could run faster than they could, and she simply didn't have the time or the ability to try and take them all out. She risked a quick glance over her shoulder and saw that there had to be at least a baker's dozen coming after her.

The revving of an engine up ahead caught her attention and her head snapped over in the direction the sound had come from. No sooner had she locked eyes on the sleek black Corolla careening down the street than she heard Tuck shout to her.

"Chase! Over here! Run!"

The sound of his voice was so sweet and familiar that she could have cried, if she'd had the time or a stronger inclination. Instead, she ran for her life.

She barreled across the sidewalk, cutting into the path of the herd behind her and leapt onto the hood of an abandoned car parked haphazardly against and partly on the curb. She felt a hand swipe at her ankle, and she teetered precariously, struggling to maintain her balance. She glanced down and saw one of the creatures pulling itself toward her booted foot, its eager, hungry mouth open and drooling. With a cry of disgust she brought her other boot down hard on the back of its skull.

Up ahead, Tuck slammed on the brakes, his eyes wide as he leaned across the passenger seat toward her. He started to push the door open when another creature stumbled around the hood of the car, eagerly and clumsily reaching for the opened door. Tuck quickly pulled it shut and fired off a round through the partially opened window, into the creature's skull, dropping it.

Behind her, and to the left and right, more creatures were closing in. She was running out of time.

Chase jumped off the hood and focused on the car, ignoring the masses closing in all around her. Tuck was reaching out for her, his mouth opened to shout her name. The groans were growing louder and louder and she felt brushing pressure on her back from the icy hands trying to grab her. She suppressed another cry of disgust and ran faster.

She didn't wait for the door to be opened again; when she was ten feet from the car, she pushed off as hard as she could and dove through the backseat passenger-side window, crashing into FDR. Tuck wasted no time, slamming on the gas and screeching off into the night.

"Chase!" Tuck exclaimed, glancing over his shoulder. "Are you all right?"

He looked and sounded tremendously worried, so Chase sat up and reached out to squeeze his shoulder. "I'm fine," she said quietly. "Really." She turned to face FDR, who she was pretty sure she'd accidentally kneed him in the crotch when she'd dived into the car. "Sorry," Chase muttered, panting as she sat back against the door. "You okay, Foster?"

"Peachy keen," he replied tightly. "But very glad to see you. Very, very glad. That was a damn close call back there."

"A successful trip, though," Chase replied, hefting her bag. "Let's see that arm."

She cleaned his wound, and stitched him up, sloppy though it was. She wrapped his arm up in the gauze and tape she had and then gave him a couple of the antibiotic pills. When he was settled she crawled into the front seat as Tuck navigated through the dark, messy, chaotic streets.

"We've got to get somewhere," Chase said. "Somewhere we can hole up, somewhere safe."

"Indeed," Tuck replied. "But _where?"_

"We've got to get out of the downtown area," Chase said. "At least for tonight."

"The turn-off to go toward the CDC is just up there, another few blocks," Tuck said. "We could try to get through and get inside."

"No way they're letting us in," Chase said. "You, maybe, but not all three of us, not even if you said that we were survivors you'd picked up along the way. We'll have to come back, when it settles down at least a little bit. He's not expecting you until tomorrow."

"Do you really think this is going to just 'settle down'?" FDR chimed in from the back.

"Maybe not go back to normal, but at some point this has to be contained," Chase replied. "But for tonight we're sitting ducks. We've got to find a place to crash. We can't go back to the hotel – it's overrun. We can't stay in the car with the windows busted out. And look –"

She pointed out Tuck's window as they neared the turn-off onto the street that led to the CDC. The middle of the block was full of military tanks and soldiers, and there was a crowd of people before them. Tuck brought the car to a stop and rolled the window down.

"…turn around and go back to your homes!" one of the soldiers was shouting through a megaphone. "You can't get through here. If you try, we are authorized to use deadly force."

There were wordless cries from the crowd and Tuck shook his head as he rolled the window back up. "It's not happening. There's no way we can even sneak around those tanks."

"Not right _now_," Chase said. "But if we give this time to settle down – who the hell knows? Maybe the reinforcements will come."

"Yeah," FDR said doubtfully. "Reinforcements. I never took you to be the delusional type, Moreno."

Chase shot him a look over her shoulder. "Just try to get out of here," she muttered to Tuck.

Every road leading out of the downtown area was either blocked or backed up with traffic – apparently most of the other inhabitants of the city had the same idea as they did.

"Great," FDR exclaimed. "Now what?"

Chase bit her lip. Things were getting worse outside and they were completely exposed and vulnerable in a bashed-up car. She glanced around, catching sight of a tall building a couple blocks away – it was the Atlanta-Fulton Public Library. Her mind began racing.

The worst part of the outbreak had happened well into the night, long after most offices were closed. The library itself closed at five on a Friday. The probability that the building was mostly clear of infected was pretty good, as long as the building itself was secure.

"The library," she said. "We can lay low in the library for now."

Tuck's eyes went to the rearview and he exchanged a look with FDR, almost as if silently debating whether that was a good idea or not. Chase suppressed a wave of annoyance.

"We don't have the time to sit and chat about it," she said. "If it's overrun, we'll find someplace else, but for now, that's all I got."

"All right, all right," Tuck murmured, guiding the car in the direction of the library.

He pulled to a stop halfway down the block and they gathered up their things. This part of the street seemed clear, for now, but Chase figured it was only a matter of time until the chaos bled over into this area.

FDR had his backpack strapped on and was holding his AR-15 pointed down, but at the ready. Tuck had his pack on his back and the barrel of his hunting rifle rested on his shoulders. Chase slipped her duffel on, slung the crossbow on a shoulder, and grabbed her Glock and her machete.

"Ready?" Tuck asked.

"Ready," Chase replied.

"Yeah, sure," FDR said doubtfully.

The door to the library was locked, and all of the windows seemed to be secure. Chase frowned; the doors were made of glass. If someone got desperate enough to get inside, it wouldn't be difficult at all to break in.

Like they were doing right now.

Tuck used the butt of his rifle to tap the glass until it splintered and then began knocking out bigger chunks. He looked at Chase, noting her expression, and shrugged.

"We've got no lock-picking tools," he said defensively. "Besides, we can move some of the taller bookcases against this window to barricade it. We won't be here too long, anyway."

It was a shitty plan, but it was better than nothing.

Once inside, FDR secured their immediate area as she and Tuck moved three tall bookcases against the window. Chase pushed on it thoughtfully. It would be difficult for a human being to move these out of the way, let alone a zombie.

Once the window was secure, they waited for FDR to return from the other section of the library he'd gone to. He shrugged.

"Looks all right," he said. "Didn't hear anything, haven't seen anything. I just hope everyone else doesn't get the same idea."

"Maybe we could find a study room to hole up in," Chase said.

FDR motioned over his shoulder. "Do you one better. The offices are back behind the checkout desks, and accessible only by a locked door. And I found a set of keys in a drawer." He held up the keys. "We can barricade ourselves in there."

"Let's go," Tuck said with a nod.

They followed FDR quietly through the library, sweeping the area with their weapons as they went. It was silent as a tomb inside the library, and Chase felt a little hope that they might actually be able to rest for the night in a somewhat secure area.

FDR unlocked the office doors, holding up a fist for them to wait, and lifted his rifle, entering in low. After a moment he leaned out. "Come on back."

Chase wasn't entirely sure what a librarian's office looked like, but it was a smaller room with two desks separated by a partition facing each other, some filing cabinets, a bookshelf, and a mini-fridge, as well as some potted plants and a big calendar on the wall.

Inside the fridge was a twelve-pack of Coke, four bottled waters and five containers of yogurt. Tuck passed out waters and yogurt and supplemented that with some of the snacks he had in his pack. They ate quickly and triple checked to make sure the door was secure. Then FDR turned off the light.

For a few moments, they sat very still in the darkness, just listening. The library was still silent but the din from outside was steady, and loud enough that they could hear it from the office.

"Well," FDR said presently, his voice quiet. "Um. Sweet dreams?"

"Yeah. Get some rest," Tuck said. FDR settled down on the floor on one side of the partition and Tuck pulled Chase down next to him on the other side. He arranged their bags for them to pillow their heads on, and his body heat provided enough warmth for her.

Nonetheless, she shivered against him.

She felt his lips against her temple, cheek, and ear. "You'll be all right," he whispered to her. "Never let anything happen to you."

As his arms tightened around her, and physical weariness began to drown the noise of her confused, whirling mind, Chase wondered what the morning would bring, and how they would ever get out of this hell.


End file.
